


Guardian of the Soulless

by StarRose



Category: The Witcher (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Alternate Universe - No Powers, Expect steamy sex, Feeeeeeelings, Geralt is a feelings virgin, Jaskier is a feelings whore, M/M, alot of love, with a bit of action and angst thrown in for good measure
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-27
Updated: 2020-04-28
Packaged: 2021-02-27 12:20:50
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 16
Words: 138,414
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22426978
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/StarRose/pseuds/StarRose
Summary: Modern!AU. Geralt has just left a relationship with Yennefer, the boss of a top London crime family. They leave on good terms, and he stays as a bodyguard for hire to be called upon when needed. He has every reason to believe his life will carry on as normal, but he barely gets two footsteps down the street before he finds a noisy angel amongst his monsters of the crime world.  Jaskier has no idea what he's gotten himself involved with, and frankly he's more excited for it. Cue Jaskier finding a heart to call home, and Geralt realising love is what he'd always been missing.
Relationships: Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion, mentions of past Geralt/Yennefer
Comments: 595
Kudos: 1108
Collections: Good Relationship Etiquette (familial included) - or Good BDSM Etiquette - or Good Relationship and BDSM Etiquette





	1. "No one that handsome should look so sad."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Anyone who knows me knows I write nothing but epic long fanfics with epic sex scenes and epic love/angst scenes. 
> 
> This will be no exception.

It was a standoff. Geralt’s breath came short and heavy, but his arm was steady where he pointed his handgun. His golden eyes were furiously focused on the man standing behind Jaskier, the man that was going to die a thousand painful deaths for this.

Jaskier was tied, hands and feet, to a wooden chair in front of the man, a cloth tied around his head over his mouth to prevent him from speaking. There was a bruise across his right cheek, blood slowly trickling from a cut on his lip, and what looked like a knife slash across his chest. Not deep, but enough to be painful, cutting through the material of his shirt and staining it with red. Jaskier’s eyes stared up at Geralt with both relief, a little bit of remaining dread, and a certain smugness towards his captors that he was about to be saved. He struggled against his bindings at the sight of him, trying to lean towards him.

“Let him go,” Geralt growled aggressively, entirely ignoring the other six men around him, all of them pointing their own guns towards him, “or I swear I will kill everyone in this room.”

A muffled sound came from Jaskier, and the man behind him simply smiled.

“You are far too outnumbered to be making threats like that. Now you know what I want. Tell me where it is, and once its safely retrieved I will let your little twink boy go.”

“ _Fuck_ you.” Geralt snarled, but otherwise did not move.

The mans lips curled once more. He was holding his own handgun, though he wasn’t pointing it at Geralt. From where he was standing behind the chair he suddenly hit Jaskier hard on the jaw with it. Jaskier was unable to see it coming, to prepare himself, and his head snapped to the side with a loud muffled grunt of pain, eyes tightly shut as he moaned and tried to cough through the cloth blocking his mouth.

Geralt snarled loudly and took a quick threatening step forward, but the men around him closed in on him further, and he had no choice but to stop.

“Where is it?” the man asked again, “We know you were given it. All you have to do is tell us the location, not so hard is it?”

Geralt’s own jaw clenched hard, his mind running wild, frustration coursing through him as his finger over the trigger pulled that little bit tighter, “ _I don’t know_ where it is.”

The man was beginning to lose his patience. He stepped to Jaskier’s side and shoved the gun into the side of his prisoners neck, up against the jaw he’d just hit. Jaskier let out a high-pitched whine of panic, his eyes now wide with fear.

“WHERE IS IT? OR DO YOU REALLY WANT TO SEE HIS BRAINS SPLATTERED AGAINST THE WALL?!” 

_“FUCK YOU!”_ Geralt screamed back, and he squeezed the trigger.

As did all the men surrounding him.

* * *

**Two months earlier…**

“So…this is it then.”

It was a statement, not a question. Yennefer sat behind her desk, legs crossed, showing off her long legs through the high slit in her black dress. Her back was to a huge window that overlooked the busy London city from the top of her CEO office, and it was raining heavily, a constant strum of water pounding against the window.

“Hmm.”

She knew that would be his reaction, she knew him too well.

“I’m assuming I can still rely on you for our contract?” she asked.

“Of course.”

“But nothing more.”

“Nothing more.”

She should be upset, she should be feeling…something. But she wasn’t. Perhaps a distant ache, somewhere in her chest, but the fact was this had been coming on for a long time. Sure, the sex had been great, _really_ great, and perhaps for a time something more could have been, but…no. That thought was a faded dream.

Had Geralt not brought it up she would have eventually. He wasn’t happy with her, not _truly_ happy, and to be honest she was getting a little annoyed at how _clingy_ he was becoming. Oh he’d never admit it, in fact most definitely didn’t even realise it, but she knew even if he didn’t that he wanted a life she couldn’t possibly give him. It was something she’d decided some time ago now. They were too similar, they bounced off each other and not in a good way. It wasn’t in her nature to be giving. It wasn’t in her job choice either. People like her didn’t live happily ever after, but Geralt could have that choice. He was an outsider. Not truly one of them, though not truly _not_ one of them either. His was a life of grey.

Maybe someday someone would actually manage to make him smile.

“I’ll let you know when I need you again then.” She said, unemotionally.

Geralt nodded curtly, and as if their past five years of intimacy had never existed he turned and walked out of the office, literally closing the door of their once relationship behind him.

Yennefer sighed, turning in her swivel chair to look out the window to the dreary English weather. At least she could still rely on him for his job, there’d just be no fun on the side anymore. This was now all business and nothing more. She peered down to where she knew her small handgun was holstered to her garter under her dress.

People like her didn’t have the capacity for giving a happy life to another.

They only took life.

* * *

To be honest it didn’t take much for Geralt to give in to the temptation of alcohol, and having now ended a long physical relationship with his employer he took that as an excuse to get to alcohol and now. He didn’t live far from Yennefer’s building, so upon walking back home and making his decision he’d walked into the first pub he came across. To get out of the rain if anything.

After setting himself up with a row of beers he now sat alone in a corner on a table for four, but his sour glare kept away anyone asking if they could sit down, or even just take a chair. It was like a radius of empty around him, no one daring to penetrate the invisible forcefield of misery. He was planning on becoming what he liked to call nicely drunk; enough that he knew he’d have trouble walking home, but not enough that he would forget where his home was. He also had to be on call 24 hours a day, so he could never get too wrecked. Thankfully he had a good metabolism for alcohol. Most of the time.

He glared dully down at his table, idly listening to the far-off conversations and laughter from the other patrons as he slowly emptied glass after glass. Why was he here? He could have just gotten drunk at home. Why was he here in a crowded pub drowning his sorrows in front of other people? He took another swig of his beer. He hadn’t bothered counting how many it was now, but he suspected it wouldn’t be long before the barman refused to serve him anymore. He’d go home after that, and just drink more there. Or sleep. Maybe sleep was a better idea.

His relationship with Yennefer had been a…complicated one. He’d worked for her for twelve years, five of those physically, and it had been his own choice to end that part of it but…he sighed, taking another swig. Something hadn’t been right, hadn’t felt right. He felt hollow inside, not that that wasn’t an unusual feeling for him throughout his life, but being with Yennefer wasn’t helping when he thought it would. He’d hung on for five years waiting for that moment, waiting for the pieces to fall into place, for that hollow feeling to be filled, but it wasn’t happening.

It was a risk, telling her they should end it. With who she was no one could ever predict what way the winds would blow when taking bad news, but she’d taken it…as if she’d been expecting it. It had been a risk starting the relationship in the first place to be honest. Geralt had been in this line of work for as long as he could remember, as an orphan on the streets of London you had to learn the hard way how to look after yourself, and he’d run with gangs even back then. Now he was running for the biggest crime family in London.

Sort of. 

He’d managed to keep on the outside looking in, doing his protection work for Yennefer, being her escort and keeping her safe in times she was made to socialise with her underlings or rival families. But only ever as a contractor. He wasn’t there day to day, he wasn’t part of anything criminal that actually went on, he was purely protection. A guardian for the soulless. Yennefer never knew who might be after her. _Trust no one,_ she’d say, _even the people you know._

Geralt already knew that, though her exception was Geralt himself. She trusted him. He suspected it was why he still had the job after breaking up with her.

Some would say the pay for being the guardian of a crime boss was extortionate and they’d probably be right, but that came with territory. You stay in favour with your bosses they pay you well for your work. It was the funding from Yennefer that got Geralt’s penthouse on the bank of Thames, almost directly opposite the parliament buildings. Yennefer had found it amusing to hold someone of such high criminal regard there right under the governments nose. He never asked how much it had cost her front company to house him there, but he was certain he saw a figure ending in at least sevens digits once.

Geralt himself was not a criminal, he just…guarded those that were.

Well, if you didn’t count the people he’d killed. Which yes technically was a crime but then they were criminals themselves, rivals or just morons trying to take Yennefer’s power.

At some point during these thoughts of his somewhat dodgy life and dodgy relationship choices, he’d manged to get in another few drinks, and was now glaring rather blurrily at the tabletop.

“I love the way you just sit in the corner and brood.”

Geralt blinked rather un-coordinately and looked up. A young man was standing there, leaning on the wall with crossed arms and a stupid sparkling smile.

“I’m here to drink alone.” Geralt murmured, making his point by taking another sip of his beer.

“Good, yes, well you see it’s just no one else hesitated to applaud the quality of my performance, except for you.”

Geralt frowned, annoyed, “ _What?_ ”

The young man then gestured with his hand to basically everyone in the pub, a karaoke machine in one corner and rainbow flags as far as the eye could see.

_Oh fuck,_ Geralt thought, the colour draining from his face, _it’s pride week._

He had been so lost in his own thoughts he’d walked right into a pub that was celebrating it and had been completely blind to the colour that was...well, _everywhere_. Nothing wrong with that, fuck he’d had his fair share of different people to keep him company on lonely nights before Yennefer (the drunk part of his brain was unhelpfully reminding him that every day or night was always lonely even when he had been with Yennefer) but he had no interest whatsoever in being surrounded by overly happy and cheerful people on any day, and _especially_ not today.

He sighed irritably and ignored the man, downing what was left of his drink. Dammit, it really was the last.

“Come on!” the interloper insisted, “You don’t want to keep a man with bread in his pants waiting. Just three words, come on you must think something of it!”

Geralt slowly looked up at him again. Did he hear that right?

“Bread…?” he trailed off, and too drunk to think just looked directly at the mans crotch instead as if expecting to see a loaf sticking out of it.

His unwanted guest smirked, “Well I don’t really, but it worked didn’t it?”

“What worked?” Geralt said, still staring until his eye contact was forcibly broken as the man helped himself to the chair in front of Geralt’s table and sat down, pulling it up close.

“Well we’re having a conversation now aren’t we? It’s a conversation starter! Bread in pants, confusion, what the hell are you talking about you mad idiot sit down join me for drinks yes why thank you hi so what’s your name?”

Geralt stared at him again, his face this time, “…. _what?”_ He’d had too much alcohol for his brain to follow this.

“Your name! And you still haven’t told me what you thought of my singing. I don’t wish to toot my own horn or anything but I have quite the reputation around these parts of being a bit of a brilliant singer.” He was still smiling that ridiculous cheerful smile, and Geralt didn’t know if he wanted to punch it off his face or…or…………………

His eyes were pretty…

“I wasn’t paying attention to any singing.” Geralt finally replied, looking away to the side just to avoid staring at this brightness, “I told you I’m drinking alone.”

“No you’re not you’re with me now. HEY CAN WE GET ANOTHER ROUND OF what are you drinking? Oh no you can’t have that, A BOTTLE OF YOUR FINEST RED WINE! PUT IT ON MY TAB!”

He pointed down at the table while looking towards the barman, who caught his eye and nodded. Geralt stared at him with utter indignation. Was this idiot mad?! Could he not read the very obvious signals coming from him that he wanted to _be alone?!_

“So, fun, let me try and guess what’s up with you then.” The man clasped his hands together in front of him and rubbed them like he was about to start a game of charades, “Solemnly drinking alone in a pub full of happy people, not wanting to talk to anyone, with a face looking like….well…” Geralt _glared_ , “…like _that_ …” the man leant forward, his smile now just plain cheeky, “You’ve been dumped haven’t you?”

Geralt glowered dangerously at him, “That’s none of your business.” He growled. The new drinks arrived, and Geralt quickly took one and drank half of it in one go, “And besides, it was my choice.” He added as an afterthought. To clarify. For some reason.

The man was now leaning one elbow on the table, leaning his cheek on the back of his hand, making his head tilt to the side at an angle as he gazed up at Geralt with a serene little smile. “Well, that was a very unlucky person to have lost you.”

Geralt immediately stopped drinking. The glass was still at his lips as he peered across the top of it, analysing the practical purr that came with that statement. He watched the young man carefully, smile tinted with boldness, blue-grey eyes brilliant and playful and unblinking as he gazed back at him.

The not so subtle poke of his tongue to wet his bottom lip.

_Oh no._

“I love your hair by the way. It’s so…so….” the man seemed to struggle to find a word he wanted, pulling a strange strangled face before simply settling on; “…white.”

Mild panic rippled through Geralt. Not today. Not now. 

“Is that natural? It looks natural. I mean white isn’t natural but was a birth thing? Its natural in a non-naturally way right? It looks really nice. Naturally.” he winked.

Geralt put what was left of his drink back on the table and stood up, wavering a little and steadying himself, before ignoring the sudden pouting protest from the man as his object of flirtation walked quickly away. Geralt headed out towards the door without word, out into the still pouring rain.

“Hey wait! Oh come on!” he heard the man call out behind him, but he was already walking swiftly towards home, his long and so eloquently put white hair sticking to his shoulders almost immediately. “Hold on wait a minute!”

The young man came running out in front of him, putting his palms up to stop Geralt’s storming off strut.

“Look, look I’m sorry. You just…you looked like someone who needed someone to talk to even if you didn’t realise it. You know, one of those things where you’re down but you don’t drink at home because you secretly want to be paid attention to so you go to a crowded place and just glare at an inanimate object until someone asks you wants wrong and then you act all ‘Ohh go away I don’t need anyone” when in fact you really want someone and-“

“ _Geralt_.” For love of God did this man ever stop talking? “If you promise to shut up my name’s Geralt, and…” he sighed, half annoyed at himself for what he was about to say, “And your three words were comforting and annoyingly happy.”

The man finally paused, and his lips slowly quirked upwards in a joyous smile, “That’s four words.”

“Forget the _and_!”

“ _Ohhh_ ok, well yeah, yeah that’s three words then." He leant into him a little, "I thought you weren’t listening.” he teased.

“I guess I was.”

He remembered feeling…calmer, at some point during his drinking. Perhaps it had been when he was singing and just hadn’t realised. The two of them stood together in the rain, Geralt wondering what on earth was happening, where had this bouncing bean come from?

The man held out his hand for Geralt to take, “You can call me…” he paused, just a small smile this time gracing his lips as though thinking of a far-off inside joke, “Jaskier.”

Geralt looked down to his hand, back to the raindrops dripping off the chestnut locks of this very…adorable… _dammit_ …looking man, and sighed. Again. He took his hand, expecting just a normal handshake, but Jaskier took the opportunity to pull himself in so close Geralt had to tilt his head back, his eyes wide in the moments shock as Jaskier stared at his eyes.

“You know you have the most amazing eyes. Gold. Is that a natural colour too?”

“Umm…” Geralt was in no state to handle this, “yes.”

He just wanted to go home and drink. And sleep.

He felt so hollow.

“Genetic defect, at birth, like you said.” He clarified.

Jaskier did not move away, just stood standing almost chest to chest, only their still grasped hands between them, “You know,” he said softly, suddenly serious, “I wasn’t joking when I said it looked like you could use some company. I’ve been there,” he gave him a lop-sided grin, “probably more times than I care to admit. If you just want to talk or…or _whatever_ ,” he added nonchalantly, “hey maybe I could sing to you! You said it was comforting, if that’ll help I could do that!”

He continued on and on. Geralt just didn’t understand. This was a total stranger who was offering to make him feel better for something that had nothing to do with him. People like this didn’t exist in this world. No one did anything for anyone these days, he’d learnt that a long time ago. What did he really want from him? He was obviously flirting, enough for even Geralt to pick up on. Was this supposed to be a proposition? Oh he had a headache. Well not a real headache, just more of a feeling of annoyance and confusion that was being brought on by the endless chatter from this Jaskier, _you don’t know me_ , the endless offers of comfort, _you keep looking at me like that_ , what do you want from me? _You’re making me...feel…_

“Why?” Geralt finally asked, interrupting Jaskier's stream of comforting suggestions. Had he heard sky-diving in that list?!

“Why?” Jaskier blinked, the raindrops falling from his eyelashes as he did, “Well, I just saw you sitting there and thought…well…no one that handsome should look so sad.” He bit his lip at the admission, a hopeful little grin accompanying it.

Geralt could feel Jaskier's hand still holding his own, the little squeeze the young man had given him, and now the way his thumb lightly brushed along the backs of his fingers…

Geralt had just broken up with Yennefer only hours ago, but his heart was beating in his throat.

“I mean that’s not the _only_ reason obviously I mean I’m not that shallow…well that may be a lie but I’m all good intentions and that’s what counts isn’t it? I just saw you and thought this man needs some…body…“

He trailed off. Geralt barely registered that he was raising his other hand to gently stroke his own thumb down Jaskier's wet cheek, watching as the simple light touch managed to shut him up, his lips now only parting at the feel of the stroke. Geralt tilted his own head slightly, frowning, his mind foggy from alcohol and just…just everything that had been today.

He was a guardian of a crime boss. He’d killed people. Seen things that would give normal people nightmares. He’d spent the last five years in the bed of the boss of all of it.

And yet here this man was, bright eyed and bushy tailed and just…innocent.

He needed some innocence.

Before he knew it he was cupping Jaskier's jaw and their equally rain wet lips were pressing against each other. Geralt let go of the hand between them and put it around Jaskier's waist, pulling him that short distance closer, surprisingly gently, as though he’d squeeze the innocence out of him if he wasn’t careful.

For a moment Jaskier was completely at the mercy of his own shock, before his brain got it together and he closed his eyes and let out the most sinfully loud moan. Opening his mouth to the kiss he cupped both his hands around Geralt’s neck, sliding his fingers through that naturally un-natural hair. He had no preoccupations for being too rough for innocence and absolutely plastered his soaking wet self to Geralt’s body-….holy shit, Jaskier hadn’t realised how rock hard this body of muscle was, and it only made him groan even more. He kissed him with all the effort of a starving man, absolutely lost and frantic, tongue desperate to slide against this new hot strangers own, and Geralt, well…Geralt hadn’t been kissed like this for a long time, and it was doing something to his mind.

And definitely his body.

Heat was rising all the way through him, and he kept Jaskier's head absolutely still with his strong grip at his jaw as he lapped at Jaskier's lips, not even bothering to acknowledge what the hell he was doing hours after leaving Yennefer. He sucked softly against Jaskier's tongue, Jaskier moaning and melting against him every single time. The kiss was wet and sloppy and absolutely filled to burst with desperate passion and sexual need. Geralt could feel his own cock responding to that wet mouth and that wet body and the wet noises and _oh_...fuck he needed to get laid. Really badly. Really _really_ badly. He'd had no one but Yennefer for so long and that had been slowly going wrong for ages. He wanted to be...he wanted to be _wanted_ , and with the way Jaskier was grinding his hips against him he was going to count that as being wanted.

He could feel Jaskier's own cock responding too, and Geralt felt a feral growl escape from his throat, his hand around Jaskier's waist fisting a shirtfull of material from Jaskier's half unbuttoned soaking wet shirt, the gentleness not so gentle anymore as he firmly held him flush against himself. He bit Jaskier's bottom lip which just surged Jaskier to moan even louder.

Oh fuck the man could _moan_.

By the time air was becoming just as desperate as the kiss Jaskier was the first to very reluctantly move away. But he remained lip close, panting against Geralt’s lips, his cheeks rosy red and grinning inanely.

And still it poured with rain.

Geralt gazed down at him, an effort to keep his own breathing at a normal rate, his golden eyes blown dark as he looked down at this…what was this? What was happening? All he could suddenly think about was having this man pushed down on his bed, ripping those wet clothes off and devouring the innocence out of him like some ravenous beast that fed on the pure and unblemished.

“ _Fuck!_ Well,” Jaskier panted, looking up at him still grinning, “I take it we’ve now established how I’m going to ‘comfort’ you. So um, your place?” he asked, timidly excitedly.

Geralt found himself nodding, his body not his own anymore, “Mmmm. Just over the river.” He felt like he was under a spell, he couldn’t stop looking at him, this singing, flirting little siren.

He _had_ been listening to him singing in the pub. He hadn’t realised it at the time, he hadn’t even been watching, but he’d been listening, and the voice had been flowing through him like an angel gracing a dying man. His thoughts hadn’t been quite so miserable while he’d been singing, but as soon as someone else began Geralt had gone back to his misery. Perhaps it was a spell.

A good, healing spell.

Even though Jaskier had no idea where to go except for ‘over the river’, Geralt let himself be led by his hand, Jaskier out in front now chattering away again asking where exactly he lived, what was it like, how long had he lived there, would anyone else be there, oh he should probably phone home first, did he have any pets.

Geralt blocked out his questions. He was tired. And now horny. The alcohol was still careening through his veins. He wanted sleep. He wanted Jaskier. He wanted some damn peace in his life.

_Peace is all you have,_ his brain unhelpfully offered up again, _perhaps you need some noise?_

“Hey look is that a dolphin in the river? No it can’t be, well it could be there was a whale some time ago do you remember that it was in all the papers I never saw it though mind you I don’t actually live in London have to get the train to get here oh hold on.”

They stopped as Jaskier took out his wallet and gave a twenty to a man busking with a flute on the bridge they were about to cross. The man nodded thankfully at him, before Jaskier took Geralt’s hand again.

Geralt was still in a daze.

He had found an angel amongst the monsters in his life.

“Oh its not a dolphin it’s…ew what is that? I don’t think I wanna know, hey have you been on a boat down the Thames I did that last year it was fucking freezing really do not recommend doing that in November though I remember there was this guy on board who’d brought on bagpipes-“

Geralt tuned him out again, his left eye twitching slightly.

A very noisy angel.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Come follow me on tumblr I'm like all over Geraskier so SO much! https://starrose17.tumblr.com/


	2. “Are you a secret agent?!"

“Holy…buttery bananas!”

Jaskier’s eyes went wide. _Really_ wide! He ran straight to the floor to ceiling windows that ran along one entire wall of the penthouse, mouth still agape from the opulence of this huge, if incredibly sparsely decorated, modern mansion. He placed his palms against the window, his breath fogging it up as he gazed out at the evening view over London, dots of light heading right to the horizon. Far below across the river were the parliament buildings and Big Ben, the London Eye rotating slowly towards his right. The rain had stopped, typically as soon they entered the apartment skyscraper’s entrance below.

“ _Wooooow_ , you must be _super_ rich to afford a place like this.”

“I’m not rich.” Geralt replied gruffly, throwing his keys into a bowl near the door, “I just have well-paying clients.”

Jaskier rolled his eyes fondly, “Er, I hate to break it to you but that’s the same as being rich.”

The penthouse had three floors, five bedrooms, and a swimming pool on the roof. It was far, _far_ too big for one person to live alone. Geralt only lived on this floor they were on, using the pool in the summer for his fitness training. The only thing he used on the second floor was the private gym. There was a private cinema on the third floor but he never used it, and a bowling alley. All of it collecting dust.

It was almost like the entire building was reminding him he was alone. 

Yennefer had very rarely come here before. Their relationship had mostly been whenever he’d been hired and happened to be around her. The times she had been here it wasn’t like they acted as a couple. It was all sex mostly. He’d found himself, in recent times, reaching out to her a bit more. But she never reached back.

Geralt looked down to his hand, flexing his fingers.

She certainly never reached first.

It was then Jaskier blinked as the information about clients processed and he spun around on the spot, tearing his gaze away from the outside, “Hey wait a minute _paying clients_? Are you a _hooker_?”

Geralt gave him a look of absolute _what the fuck?!_

“ _No_ I’m not a _hooker_!!” he exclaimed, not believing that was the first thing that came to Jaskier’s mind.

His temple throbbed. His headache had grown progressively worse. Jaskier’s non-stop talking and excitement was wearing him down and was endearing to a point. _To. A. Point._

He was lucky he was cute.

To be fair to him though, Jaskier was probably completely normal, it was Geralt that didn’t know how to react to normal people. Idle pointless conversations about dolphins and boats, what was the point in knowing how long he’d lived here or where he grew up or any number of the other questions Jaskier had asked on the way here, which Geralt had answered only a few. Why couldn’t people just be silent? Knowing the answer to those questions won’t gain anything valuable.

Still, his own silence appeared to do nothing to put Jaskier off, in fact the mystery seemed to have made him hurry even faster to get to Geralt’s home. Any annoyance from the man hadn’t quelled Geralt’s own beating heart that he could still feel in his throat, or the ache that was in his groin from that kiss.

He had, after all, brought this Jaskier here for one thing and one thing only.

As Geralt removed his soaking wet jacket to hang on the coat stand, he heard Jaskier gasp, “Is that a _gun_?!” 

Jaskier had spotted the handgun tucked into the waistband of Geralt’s trousers, and with the pure joy of a child opening Christmas presents he ran over to it and plucked it out before Geralt even turned around.

Geralt’s heart practically flew _out_ of his throat when he realised what Jaskier had just done, and he spun around so fast, snatching the gun out of Jaskier’s hands, _“ **Don’t fucking touch that!!”**_ he screamed at him in utter panic, looking absolutely furious at him.

 _Fuck!_ He’d totally forgotten he even had that on him. He was so used to being around people who 90% of the time had their own gun on them anyway he forgot this was not the case today. It hadn’t even occurred to him to hide the gun before Jaskier saw it. Having weapons were normal for him. Weapons were _not_ normal for everyone else. _Shit!_ Well that was that over with then, Jaskier was bound to freak out now.

“You have gun!! _You have a gun_!!” Jaskier was practically bouncing on the spot, grinning madly, not in the least bit discouraged from Geralt screaming at him, “Why do you have a gun you can’t have a gun this is London you can’t just carry a gun around who are you oh my gods you have a gun this is amazing!!”

That…was not the reaction he had expected.

“I err…have a license for it.” Geralt murmured, looking at him oddly, before putting the gun into a draw where it lived when it wasn’t on him.

“You have a license?” Jaskier then gasped again, “Do you have a license to kill?” he then made an even _bigger_ gasp, his grin practically splitting his face in two, “ _Are you a secret agent?!_ ”

“Oh for fuck…” Geralt closed his eyes and took a breath, trying to calm his annoyance, before finally turning to him, “Jaskier will you sit the fuck down and shut up for two minutes?!”

Okay, so he was very glad the little singer hadn’t run screaming from him, he had enough of that from others. But he needed to _think_. Needed everything to just _stop_! He felt like he was being bombarded from all angles and it was exhausting him. He wasn’t used to normal. He wasn’t used to nice.

Jaskier paused, his mouth open ready to continue voicing all the questions that were running through his head at a mile a minute, before reluctantly closing it and pouting. He sat down obediently on the edge of a leather white sofa that faced out towards the wall of windows and the view outside. 

The penthouse was quiet.

For a moment.

“Yeaaaah I’m not gonna last two minutes. You didn’t answer my question!”

Geralt sighed deeply yet again, “No, I’m not a secret agent.” He couldn’t be more far off, “I’m a...”

Now, here was the question. Was he going to tell the man he’d just brought back to fuck that he was an on-call bodyguard for a crime family?

The answer was a resounding no, so he’d just be vague about it.

“I’m a bodyguard.”

“Oooo, for who?”

“For…whoever will hire me.”

Which wasn’t really a lie. Before he found himself his permanent position with the Vengerberg's he was a bodyguard for hire. Every now and then he’d even get enquires from the old contacts. He’d do the occasional extra job here or there.

“Oh. So rich people I’m guessing from the looks of this place. You must have seen some amazing things, I bet you’re full of stories.” Jaskier was leaning forward where he sat, so innocently excited, eyes still just as bright and interested in Geralt as they were in the pub, “So do you just have to stand next to these people and look menacing? I bet you’re really good at that. You’ve got the err…you know…” he gestured vaguely to all of Geralt, “the _look_. Bet you’ve seen some fights too, have you actually shot someone before?” He gasped yet again, his voice suddenly going dark and secretive, almost whispering, “Have you _killed_ anyone?”

Geralt just found himself staring at him. Again. Was he for real? Surely no one normal would be asking those sorts of questions with that bigger grin on their face. Who was this man? He was bouncy and chattery and full of life, and the sight of a gun only got him more excited.

Geralt ensured he gave away nothing of an answer in his expressions, and again he ignored all of the questions.

“So…none of this, finding a gun…it hasn’t put you off being here at all?”

Jaskier’s excited face softened, and he pressed his lips together in a lovely smile. He got up from the sofa to walk over to him, still smiling as he shook his head.

“ _Mm_ Mm. Dangerous people and interesting situations often have the best stories.”

“Hmm, so you’re a writer?”

“Song lyrics really. I sing, I play the guitar. But the best songs come out of the best stories. I’m not put off. If anything…” Jaskier’s voice dropped a little lower as he casually and slowly ran one finger down Geralt’s chest, the wet shirt sticking tightly to his muscled form, “...it’s made me very much remember why I’m here in the first place.” He looked him in the eyes, wetting his own bottom lip again just like before, “I imagine with a job like that you’d _need_ relaxing.”

Geralt looked at him. Properly this time. His eyes ran all over his face, taking in the soft, gentle features, the playful blue-grey eyes, the what was a floppy fringe of hair that now lay wet and plastered to his forehead from the rain. He called him a little singer, but he wasn’t that little, they were very nearly the same height, and his arms weren’t entirely devoid of a bit of muscle. His eyes then dipped slowly and obviously down Jaskier’s body, giving him the once over, racking their way back up again, taking in the long slender legs and equally slender waist. The light blue shirt, unbuttoned half way as it had been the whole time, showing a tease of dark chest hair beneath.

By the time he reached his face again, Jaskier was smirking very smugly.

Geralt didn’t know what to say. Or do. He hadn’t been with anyone but Yennefer for so long, this all felt brand new again. It was stupid. This was a one-night stand situation, this excitable and…very strange young man was here to relieve him of the stress of today and nothing more. This shouldn’t be difficult. This shouldn’t be leaving him standing here like a statue, just staring at him.

It certainly shouldn’t be making his heart race as fast as Jaskier’s mouth.

When Geralt neither said nor did anything further, Jaskier made the decision for him by leaning forward and closing his eyes as he pressed their lips together. It was slow, most definitely pure, just lips pressed against lips, holding them there for an age. Jaskier found Geralt’s hand with his own, intertwining their fingers where they stood. Geralt’s eyes slipped closed at the innocence of it all, feeling the warmth and closeness of these new lips, the scent of a new person, the feel of gentle fingers against his own rough digits.

Yennefer didn’t do things like holding hands. The feeling was…foreign to him, just as it had been when Jaskier had taken his hand in the street and led him towards his home. It must have been the reason why he’d been in such a daze on the way here, why his headache had grown as Jaskier chatted away and Geralt just looked at their hands almost the entire way, mumbling the odd direction here and there.

It made him feel something…it made him……… _feel_.

Geralt moved his fingers against Jaskier’s, squeezing them softly, and as though something suddenly awoke in him he pressed back hard against Jaskier’s lips, moaning gruffly and slipping his tongue in between them. Jaskier let out a pleasantly surprised moan of his own, letting Geralt take him round the waist and hold him close, the kiss heating up, becoming deep and wanting and desperate, drawing out more of those delightful moans from Jaskier that just spurred Geralt on even more.

“Where- _hmmpf_!” Jaskier managed to get out before Geralt was kissing him again, “isthebedroom?” He said quickly all together before his lips were taken again, and he was melting happily into this heated attacked.

Geralt didn’t want to stop kissing him for a moment, and in the frustration of needing to do so to be able to move he growled menacingly into the kiss, before reluctantly pulling sharply away and grabbing Jaskier by the arm. He yanked him over through the penthouse towards the other side, Jaskier almost tripping over his own feet at the hurriedness of it all and eagerly loving the forcefulness.

The bedroom door slammed open, and Geralt literally threw Jaskier onto the large bed, tearing his own shirt off himself. Jaskier bounced slightly on landing, before turning over to see this sculpted muscle man stripping and coming towards him.

“Oh fuck.” he murmured breathlessly in utter sexual attraction, all the blood rushing to his cock at the sight, and immediately began to strip himself of his clothing as quickly as possible.

Forgetting the remaining buttons he just swiftly pulled his shirt up over his head, and when he emerged Geralt was already naked, nothing but a medallion around his neck of the head of a white wolf. Jaskier barely had a second to register the _very_ generous size of Geralt’s already hardening cock before he was on the end of the bed and crawling up over Jaskier like a hungry panther about to devour its prey. 

Jaskier couldn’t take his eyes off him, could barely breathe already, and was so turned on by it all he couldn’t get his fingers to work, couldn’t get the zip down on his dark jeans fast enough. When Geralt simply grabbed the waistband and pulled them down and off him in one full, angry swoop, Jaskier felt yet another huge rush of blood to his cock at the sight, and he whimpered wantonly.

“ _Ohhhhh_ fuck.”

“That’s the idea.” Geralt growled deeply, throwing the garment to the floor and pinning Jaskier’s wrists to the bed either side of his head, taking no pause whatsoever as he leant down over him and kissed him once again, absolutely devouring those sweets lips.

Jaskier wriggled delightfully beneath him, already opening his legs to give Geralt room to rest his entire body on top of his own, chest to chest, stomach to stomach, and oh the _groan_ Jaskier let out at feeling their cocks pressed together side by side. He bent his legs placing his feet flat on the beds surface so he could squeeze Geralt’s waist between them, pushing up with his hips, getting as much contact with this _amazing_ body as he could.

“Oh fuck you’re hot.” Jaskier groaned desperately between those consuming kisses.

He let out moan after moan as Geralt’s tongue slid against his own, demanding, forceful, and most definitely in charge. His fingers flexed frantically against the restraint of his wrists, and when he rolled his hips upwards Geralt _ground_ down into him.

“ ** _Ohhhhhh!_** _”_ Jaskier’s eyes rolled backwards, his body helpless against this onslaught, “Mmmph… _mmmmmph!_...” Jaskier was not quiet, in any form of his life, and this was no exception.

Geralt had no clue just how much those noises were turning him on. 

All he knew was that like this, any noise coming from Jaskier was not an annoyance, but fed the blood to his cock so fast he just wanted him to make more of those sounds. So he did more to him, broke the epic kisses and sucked hard against his neck, making his way down, grazing his teeth against the skin and still grinding down into his groin. Everything made Jaskier push up into him, arching his neck to give him better access, lips wet and rosy from their attack and still parting with never ending moans. Geralt finally let his wrists go, only to reach between them and grab a hold of Jaskier’s cock.

“ _Ah_ fuck! _Geralt_!” Jaskier arched his back, those bright eyes falling shut as Geralt pumped his cock, and not slowly either.

Jaskier wrapped his arms around Geralt’s back, panting, another muffled moan escaping as Geralt took his lips again, drinking in his gasping cries at the feeling of that big hand taking his cock, stroking it, squeezing it, being entirely claimed by it. Jaskier was falling apart beneath him.

“Haaa, uhhhh, YES _AH_ _uhhh_ …”

His fingernails dug into strong back muscles, gripping Geralt so tightly, but not for long for Geralt soon shifted their position. He moved so he now knelt between Jaskier's legs, his thighs underneath the singers making his legs fall either side of Geralt's with his hips raised off the bed. In the anticipation of what was about to start Jaskier pulled Geralt’s head down to him again, taking his lips with a wanting whimper. But Geralt pulled back again, impatient and needing to get a certain, fairly unused item, from his bedside draw. 

Leaning over to get it gave Jaskier a chance to actually look at the robust chest that had been pressed to his own, a chest full of stories in itself, and Jaskier couldn’t help but touch his fingertips to it. He ran them over some scars that in his mind he was already filling in tales on how he might have got them. He wanted desperately to ask about that medallion. Geralt could feel those fingertips against him, and where they touched left his skin on fire. His heart was racing so much at this, and he glanced back to look at him, at the sight of Jaskier so ridiculously responsive to everything already. They’d barely even started, and the young man looked as though he’d already been fucked, panting and hair askew, flushed and utterly relaxed.

Geralt _really_ didn’t frighten him.

With that thought something feral and desperate raced through Geralt’s body, something that felt like he'd been missing, that made him shiver with a want so deep and needing, and finally grabbing the lube he was looking he for knelt back upright between Jaskier's legs. Jaskier was just laid out before him like a meal waiting to be feasted upon.

“You’re gonna have to tell me about those scars,” Jaskier said through heavy breaths, watching as Geralt hurriedly poured some of the lube onto his fingers, “I wanna know what every single one of them is from,” Geralt raised Jaskier’s hips even more, so his behind was resting on Geralt’s thighs, “I want to know everyt-HING! UH _FUCK_!”

Jaskier grabbed fistfuls of the bed sheet as Geralt slipped two well lubed fingers into him at once, head falling back and neck arcing, taking in a huge gasp of air at the fucking wonderful intrusion. He was so turned on that despite the initial sting of two at one time Jaskier opened up to him so quickly, so thirsty for the cock that he peered one eye open to look at before reaching out to touch it.

The opposite of Jaskier, Geralt made very little noise in everything he did, but feeling those inquisitive fingers curl around his stiff cock, having not even been touched there yet and already so hard for this, Geralt let out one deep rumble of a moan right from deep within his chest. He worked his fingers even faster, curling and twisting and Jaskier in unquestionable bliss, lips constantly parted and all number of words and sounds falling from between them.

“ _Uhhhhh_ Geralt yes…oh _fuck_ yes…more…..oh _gods_ …. _FUCK_ UHH yesyesyes _hgnnn_!”

With an urge so strong of not being able to keep this far away from him anymore, Geralt leant back down over him, forcing his fingers in deeper as he did, Jaskier letting out the longest groan as Geralt took his lips again. Jaskier grabbed onto Geralt’s thick muscled biceps, which alone caused Jaskier’s cock to jump at the feeling of them.

He was just so…such a _specimen_!

Jaskier was panting so much into his ear as Geralt buried his forehead into the pillow beside Jaskier’s head, Jaskier’s hands still working his cock in time to every stroke and scissoring of Geralt’s fingers inside him.

“Oh gods, oh Geralt I’m ready I’m so ready! Please!”

“You’re not.” Came the low rumbling response.

“ _I am I am I am_ oh please.” Jaskier begged.

“You’re _not_.” Geralt insisted. 

He knew his own size, and despite Jaskier’s writhing and desperate pleas he was not going to risk hurting him. So he continued on, Jaskier’s flushed face getting redder and redder, his cock poking into Geralt’s stomach so hard. By the time Geralt could easily fit four fingers inside him Jaskier was so close to coming it was almost unbearable for him.

He bit the shell of Geralt’s ear and begged him, _begged_ him to take him.

“Fuck me! Geralt! Please! Oh gods please _pleeeeease_ fuck me!!”

Okay, now he was ready.

Geralt leant back upright again, removing his fingers, ensuring his cock was lathered in lube, and then picked up Jaskier’s hips like he weighed but a feather. When he aligned his cock and began to push forward, keeping Jaskier’s hips steady where he held them, Jaskier tried and failed to bite back a gasping yelp of absolute pleasure as Geralt slowly slid forward all the way in. Jaskier's hand automatically went to grab his own cock, but at the last second resisted. If he touched himself now he’d come, and oh god he didn’t want to come yet, they’d only just started.

Settling Jaskier’s bottom back across his thighs, Geralt began a slow but steady rhythm, gently rocking his hips forward, taking him one slow inch at a time, back out, back in, again and again, Jaskier panting below him as though they’d been fucking for hours. It seemed impossible for Jaskier to be quiet, the moans and breathless mumbled words seemed endless. Geralt quickened his pace, snapping his hips forward that little bit more forceful, Jaskier clinging onto the bed sheets, head thrown back, front teeth biting his bottom lip before gasping and panting at every thrust.

After a while Geralt hooked his arms behind Jaskier’s knees, leaning down and placing his palms on the bed. It forced Jaskier’s legs back and open even more, Geralt’s cock sliding in deep as the angle changed and he hit that sweet bundle of nerves that had Jaskier rolling his eyes back again, a long deep moan rumbling right from within his chest. Jaskier’s arms flew around Geralt’s neck, holding him so close as their lips and tongues came together again. Geralt began to fuck him harder, the pace and depth making Jaskier constantly swear into their kiss

“Fuck! _Fuck_! Oh fuck me yes YES Geralt oh _fuck_!!”

Afterwards, Geralt would note that Jaskier sure did swear a lot when having sex, but right now all he could think about was how hot and tight he was. How wonderful his body felt against his, how erotic those sounds were that he made, how fucking him felt like he'd been missing something, something amazing, all his life. About how incredible it felt to have Jaskier’s arms around him, a hand in his hair, clutching the white strands together and pulling him down forcing Geralt to take an irresistible bite out of that teasing skin at the base of his neck, just like a starved vampire. Jaskier groaned loudly at the feel of broken skin, and that, along with the slapping sound of his own arse against Geralt's thighs, was the catalyst that threw him over the edge, unable to hold back his orgasm any longer.

“ _Geh_ -!!“ is all he managed to say of Geralt’s name before his mouth opened in what was for once silence as he clung to Geralt’s body, eyes squeezed tightly shut and body convulsing upwards as a final deep and desperate cry left him, his cock twitching and pulsing as he came all over himself between them.

But Geralt was far from finished.

He stilled in his movements, letting Jaskier regain some breath and awareness and lose some sensitivity, eyes still closed with blissful sparks slowly disappearing from behind his eyelids.

“Geralt…" Jaskier panted, "oh you…you haven’t- _ooohhhhh_ …!!” Jaskier let out another long whimpering groan as Geralt began his pace again, not removing himself, just slowly fucking him. Again, and again, and again, and Jaskier was lost to a sexual heaven as his now boneless body was happily used to fulfil Geralt’s remaining desire.

Geralt had a heck of a lot of stamina, and there was no way Jaskier could have held out for as long as Geralt was continuing to fuck him, especially with how well prepared Geralt had made him. Jaskier never stood a chance. The bed was creaking, the headboard thumping, Geralt fucked down into him so hard and fast that Jaskier could do nothing but have his head thrown to one side, biting into the pillow or his own hand, Geralt ravishing him in every way to the point Jaskier had been rendered speechless but for agonisingly aroused grunts and long drawn out moans, his cock growing hard again.

Geralt bit him, kissed him, lapped his tongue at his skin, if Jaskier was lost then so was Geralt. He couldn’t get enough of him, and he finally pinned Jaskier’s legs right down to the bed now, gripping them tightly as his hips snapped forward, plunging into his new lover like the world would come to an end if he stopped. He could feel his own silence being broken as grunts and groans of his own finally began to emerge, finally being overcome by just how _fucking_ amazing this was. His inhibitions were breaking down, the heat was curling within him, desperate to escape.

Jaskier could barely breath, couldn’t focus on a single thing but the overwhelming feeling of being fucked to within an inch of his life. No thought was going through his head, he was just a body, just a thing being given the most incredible pleasure he’d ever felt. Geralt’s new moans were beginning to break through the passion of their fucking and Jaskier managed to pry one eye open, looking up at the intense face of the man who had him pined to the bed and at the mercy of any whim.

It was so hot to see Geralt lose himself so openly that Jaskier’s newly hard cock jumped at the image, and a split moments coherent thought crossed Jaskier’s mind that _oh my god I’m gonna come again before he has even once_ , when Geralt let out a loud, animalistically wild groan, burying his face at Jaskier’s neck as he shuddered and came deep within him. His cock was pulsing so much Jaskier could feel it, and it was that that toppled him over the edge for a second time, crying out loudly, no silence this time, scrapping his fingernails down Geralt’s back breaking the skin as they rolled against one another, taking each other through, both panting and gasping for air as Geralt stayed buried deep inside him.

They remained there together for a while, panting together, hearts racing together, a tangled mess of limbs, Geralt's long hair plastered not only to his own skin but Jaskier's as well. Geralt’s arms felt weak. Something he was not used to. He managed to hold himself up long enough to gently pull out of Jaskier before toppling to one side onto his back, breathing heavily, eyes closed, skin sticky with sweat. Jaskier just remained on his back too, covered in two lots of cum and Geralt’s own inside him, breathing just as heavily but with the biggest, soppiest exhausted grin on his face, eyes blissfully closed. 

Geralt managed to find the energy to grab some tissues, turning to Jaskier to wipe them both down. Jaskier still didn’t open his eyes, but his smile grew a little bit wider at the touch, especially when Geralt pulled the covers up over them both.

But then Geralt turned away on his side, back to Jaskier, exhausted himself and sleep rapidly coming over him.

“ _Ehhh_!”

Geralt heard the odd whine from Jaskier and opened one confused eye, before feeling Jaskier’s boneless arm flop against him in what must have been a pathetic effort of hitting him. Frowning, Geralt reluctantly turned over to look at him, when immediately Jaskier flopped himself on top of him, snuggling against his chest, his head settling in the crook of Geralt’s shoulder, arm not just resting but cuddling across his chest, the wolf medallion caught between chest and arm. Jaskier hummed appreciatively, nuzzling against Geralt’s damp skin, before his breathing began to slow and almost immediately dropped off to sleep, that happy and well sated smile still on his face.

Geralt felt trapped. He had that lost feeling again, like when he was standing in front of Jaskier before, looking him up and down and yet frozen to the spot. Cautiously, as though afraid he was doing something wrong, Geralt raised his arm that Jaskier had his body snuggled up to and wrapped it around him, gently holding him close, feeling…very unlike himself. His palm came to rest against Jaskier’s bicep where he was holding Geralt across his chest, and he paused, thinking for a moment, before he touched the pads of his fingers to the arm and just stroked them gently up and down.

He only did it for a moment, before he realised what he was doing and quickly stopped, just resting his hand there instead, looking awkwardly up at the ceiling. Yennefer never did this, there was no…no cuddling. They satisfied each other sexually and then turned away, sleeping in the same bed but they may as well have been miles away from each other.

He could feel Jaskier’s still slightly racing heartbeat against his own chest, and his fingers curled a little against Jaskier’s arm. His eyelids began to droop, and as sleep finally took him his head absently turned to one side. His cheek came to rest against Jaskier’s head, and he’d never remember in the morning, but he nuzzled delicately against that hair.

* * *

Geralt was having a horrible dream. He was watching as a hooded man gave Jaskier a wolf medallion. Jaskier took it gladly, but it turned into a snake as he placed it around his neck. In the dream Geralt was stuck to the ground, unable to run to him to help as Jaskier collapsed to the floor as the snake began to strangle him.

“ _Fuck_! Geralt!” Jaskier managed to cry out in a choking, terrified voice, looking desperately towards him for help, but Geralt couldn’t shout back, his voice was gone.

Suddenly the hooded man was right in his face, his features black in shadow, and he picked up the medallion around Geralt’s neck and held it in his hand.

“You don’t want to help him.” The man rasped out, his voice old and cruel, “You don’t care, you’ve never cared. It’s why you’re my white wolf. Don’t forget what you are.”

Suddenly Geralt choked, blood spilling from his lips, and he looked down at himself only to see a knife sticking in his chest. It had been plunged right through the medallion, splitting it in half. The man drew back his hood, and Geralt gasped through the blood pouring from his mouth at seeing a dark and twisted version of Jaskier, eyes red, a snarl to his youthful face, and in a terrible voice that could never have come from him in reality simply whispered;

“ _Murderer.”_

Geralt’s eyes flew open. 

A still naked Jaskier was laying on top of him, quite literally. His entire weight was spread over Geralt’s whole body on top of the covers. He had his chin in his hands as he leant his forearms on Geralt’s chest, staring at him with such a charming, wistful smile Geralt wasn’t sure at first if his dream had simply switched to something much more pleasant.

He did his very best to keep his breathing normal, not letting the dream come through to his waking state.

“You know,” Jaskier began, “I’ve been laying like this for nearly half an hour and you haven’t even moved in your sleep to try and get me off. Do I weigh anything to you? Can you even _feel_ me?”

Geralt sighed softly, that annoyance coming back, “I can feel you.” He said, his voice gruff with morning, “What time is it?”

“Nearly eight, in this lovely sunny morning.”

Geralt was having trouble keeping his eyes open at how sleepy he still was, that dream quickly disappearing from his mind, but his eyes flew wide open at that.

“Eight?!”

“Yeah. We’ve been asleep for long time, guess we needed it after last night lasts… _exertions_.” he grinned, thoroughly happy with himself, “Though I could have gladly slept for longer if you and all your money had purchased a very helpful thing called _curtains_!”

Geralt stifled a yawn, his mind reeling on how much he’d slept. He never slept for more than 3 hours most nights. It had always been that way. He must have had an entire weeks worth of sleep in one night.

“We’re on the 45th floor. What would I possibly want curtains for?”

“Um, sunlight? You know, the big bright thing in the sky that when it gets in your eyes you can’t sleep because _ahhh light_!”

“I don’t sleep.”

“Oh really?” Jaskier said with a deadpan voice, though still a cheeky grin on those damn full lips, “So what have you been doing while I’ve been watching you snore away for the past half hour? Meditating? Very noisy meditating.”

Geralt let out a grumpy noise from the back of his throat and tipped Jaskier off him, Jaskier landing back on the bed with a chuckle.

He sat up on the edge of the bed, rubbing his face and moving his shoulders so they cracked, before getting up and heading towards the adjoining bathroom, “I’m going for a shower.” He added as an afterthought.

“May I join you?”

Geralt could hear the excited flirting in the tone without having to look at the accompanying face. Which was bound to be adorably annoying.

“No.” he replied immediately, not seeing the small pout on said face. He pointed to the bedroom door, “There’s another bathroom down the hall. Use that.”

Without another word he went to his own bathroom and closed the door.

* * *

He stood underneath the powerful waterfall shower just letting the water run over him, standing entirely still, his hair plastered to his now clean skin. The dream was now long forgotten, though Geralt still felt an odd anxiety about it even if he didn’t remember why. Still, whatever the dream had been it was not what he was thinking about this morning.

Last night…he had a lot of feelings that he was refusing to acknowledge about last night.

One he would acknowledge though was that he couldn’t believe the mistake he’d made. He’d brought back what was essentially a member of the public. Not someone from the same world as him, which is what any other other sexual encounter he’d had before Yennefer had been from, but no. He had to bring back some innocent young lad who had no idea who he was and the things he’d done, just because he was feeling depressed over a break up that was entirely his own choice.

“Fuck!” he exclaimed, clenching his fist and punching it lightly against the tiled wall.

But…he thought of that smile, of that interest in him despite the gun and the mystery, he thought of those alluring noises Jaskier had been making last night, the feel of those lips that had never tasted death and violence. The way Jaskier had clung close to him afterwards, making him feel…feel like he was wanted there.

Not to be discarded.

“Fuck.” He said again, quieter this time, before he opened his eyes at a voice that was echoing from somewhere nearby.

Frowning, he turned the shower off so he could hear better. Jaskier’s soft, melodic singing voice was echoing through the pipes as he showered.

“Hmpf.”

Despite himself, there was a small smile with that noise.

* * *

Geralt remained in the shower a lot longer than normal, half of him not wanting to deal with the mistake he’d find outside, no matter how good that mistake had been. When he did emerge, now fully dressed but towel in hand as he rubbed forcefully at his long hair, he walked into his incredibly large kitchen to find Jaskier behind the stove top. He stopped, blinking at him.

“Geralt!” Jaskier cried cheerfully, “Come come sit down sit down, you haven’t lived until you’ve tried my Spanish omelettes. Now admittedly you haven’t got all the ingredients needed, unless I just can’t find them this kitchen is _insanely_ huge, but I’ve improvised and I still think they’ll come out pretty good. By the way you need orange juice and your milk is _waaay_ out of date. Coffee?”

Jaskier was speeding around the kitchen as he spoke, only stopping now with coffee pot in hand, smiling that stupidly annoying bright smile as Geralt stood there never feeling so awkward in his own kitchen.

“You need to go.” Was all Geralt replied.

“Oh.” For a moment Jaskier looked _very_ heartbroken, as though he’d just been told his favourite pet had died. Geralt had never met anyone who wore their emotions so openly on their sleeves. But then Jaskier rolled his eyes at how stupid he was being, “Oh of course, you’ve probably got something happening, this wasn’t planned or anything no no I get it it’s fine it’s all good I’ll grab my bag and head out.”

Putting the coffee down Jaskier headed further down the penthouse, back to the front door that led out to the lift that would take him down. Geralt followed after him, a strange uncomfortable feeling in the back of his throat. Jaskier had dumped his small shoulder bag by the door when he’d come in, and in picking it up and slinging it over his shoulder it hit the small bowl where Geralt kept his door keys. Jaskier quickly caught it just as it tipped over the edge. There were horses along the edge of the bowl.

“Sorry.” Jaskier said with a sheepish smile as Geralt walked up to him with a scowl, “Sooooo, can I err…get your number?” Jaskier grinned, wiggling his eyebrows.

“No.”

This time, there was no recovery from his dead pet look as Jaskier’s face fell, “Oh. Right. Well then. I’ll just err…I’ll just be going.”

That nasty snagging feeling at the back of Geralt's throat grew exponentially at that look, but it did nothing to change his stoic expression. Not even when Jaskier looked back at him like a lost puppy as he went through the door and approached the lift.

Still, he felt like he should probably say something.

“Umm...thank you.”

Oh that felt like the incredibly wrong awkward thing to say aloud, but with one glancing look to him Geralt closed the door, leaving himself alone in his huge home once again.

It was a few moments later, when Geralt realised he was still standing with his hand on the door handle, that a slip of paper was pushed through the tiny gap under the door, followed by the ping of the elevator and footsteps going into it. Geralt picked it up, and in very flourished writing was a phone number, a large smiley face, more x’s than should be allowed, and the words;

_In case you change your mind._

_\- J_

One corner of Geralt’s lips tugged upwards. Just for a moment. 

Just for one fleeting, amused moment.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Comments give me life. Which I will return to you in chapters.


	3. “Someone else has been kissing you.”

Geralt was a very focused man. On a job it was all he thought about, entirely fixated on protecting Yennefer, keeping an eye on the people around them, watching for signs of distrust and lies and movements of potential violence. There was always many examples of each, but it was to tell when one would escalate to a threat, that was his job. Having done this for so long Geralt was exceedingly good at it, it was why Yennefer trusted him, why she allowed him to be an outsider looking in, even after their break up. He was her exception, that she let him remain away from her dark dealings, to have his own life, to only attend to her when there was a real risk of danger and not just everyday tasks. Considering her position it was an extremely risky thing to put so much trust in one person. But she did, and Geralt had more than earned it.

Not that he took advantage of actually having any life.

Which was why today was not a good day. He currently stood two steps behind Yennefer as she dealt with an accusation of theft at one of her underground weed facilities. They were surrounded by junkie workers and various weapons of varying sizes, and it was here that Geralt had clasped his hand into a fist in frustration at his side when he found himself getting distracted. 

Distracted by a song. 

Somewhere nearby there was a radio on, to entertain the workers as they processed the plant. There was some song playing, he didn’t know what it was, but the voice reminded him so much of Jaskier he’d found his mind wandering. It was only for a moment, but he’d found himself looking away from the workers, away from scanning the room, to find the radio playing that song and just look at it. He shook his head free of the memory of that smile and those lips and that hot, wanting body, and clenched that fist at his side as he turned back to the workers.

 _Get it together,_ Geralt ordered himself. It had only been four days since he’d watched that hurt expression on Jaskier’s face as he’d closed the door behind him, telling him to get out, but by the gods if that noisy angel hadn’t taken up almost every thought for those four days.

He’d find himself waking up after his normal three hours of sleep and looking to the empty space beside him, his bed feeling far too big now. He’d be sitting at the breakfast bar in his kitchen, glancing to the stove, wondering what those Spanish omelettes would have tasted like. He’d be standing in line at the grocery store, finally buying the orange juice and milk that Jaskier had suggested, his eyes staring at something in the far-off distance, mind completely distracted by the memory of that night. Not just how it had felt physically but…but everything else that came with it. Of beating hearts and new sensations and fingers stroking across skin and… _fuck_! What was he a fucking hormonal teenager?!

He just could not get Jaskier out of his mind, and he was driving himself insane with it. Quite literally. By the time he got home from the meeting with the weed growers, where Yennefer had casually said to one of her underlings, “Clean this up.” after she’d point blankly shot dead two of the workers for trying to steal from her, Geralt was prowling around his penthouse like a lion trapped in a cage, not knowing what to do with himself. Four days he’d been like this, four days and he felt like he was suffering from withdrawal symptoms.

“This is fucking stupid.” Geralt growled at himself, pacing here to there, doing nothing, mind racing, body…wanting those feelings again.

He suddenly found himself back in front of his horse bowl, his keys and a certain bit of screwed up paper lying inside. Oh he’d flattened that bit of paper out before, then screwed it up again, flattened it out, taken it over to the bin threatening to kill it by throwing it in there, scrunched it up again, put it back in the bowl, out the bowl, on the floor, it had been the output for Geralt’s frustration since Jaskier left and yet it had managed to survive. Geralt had kept it, and there it sat, a tortured bit of scrunched up paper with Jaskier’s number inside it.

He’d thrown Jaskier out of his home because it had been a mistake. Jaskier was innocent, something Geralt kept on telling himself whenever he felt his fingers inching towards that bit of paper. Only this morning Geralt had watched Yennefer kill those men with no reaction, not even a blink. He was used to death and violence. Jaskier couldn’t be muddled up with that, not with Geralt’s life, he couldn’t do that to him. It was going to be one night and one night only.

Except…...maybe…

It could be _two_ nights?

Geralt stared angrily at that bit of paper, breath coming in heavy puffs as though he’d been working out for hours. Before he could focus on what he was doing he was grabbing that paper, smoothing it out so he could read the number, and then grabbing his phone and dialling it. He ensured his mind remained blank, he wouldn’t think, wouldn’t face the voice saying this was yet another mistake, he’d just do it. Fuck it.

When he answered, Jaskier’s voice was filled with laughter, and there were two other voices in the background still talking to him as he did.

Female voices.

“Hello?” Jaskier laughed into the phone.

Before Geralt could even say anything he heard one of the female voices whine very flirtily, “ _Ohhhh_ _please_ put the phone down, we want _all_ your hands.”

“ _Shhh_ sh sh sh!” Jaskier laughed.

Something reared a very ugly head deep inside Geralt.

“Jaskier.” He stated.

“Geralt!!” Jaskier exclaimed, delightfully surprised, before a muffled sound came down the phone like he was putting his hand over the mouth piece, but Geralt could still make out what he was say, “Hold on ladies I’ll be _right_ back I promise. No no, let me go, let _goooo_!” he laughed again, before finally his voice came through clear again.

“Geralt! I’m so happy you’ve called me!”

“Jaskier, I…” Fuck what was he supposed to say? Get over here I want to have you up against the nearest surface as quickly as humanly possible? “I want to see you again.”

There was a pause the other end, before a small but highly overjoyed voice said, “Really?” Geralt could practically hear his smile, “I mean, me too, but I guess I thought…I mean I really hoped the next day you might phone despite how it ended…and the next night too, even the third I kept looking at my phone but…after that I thought…”

The women were whining at him again, “We want youuuuu!”

Geralt grit his teeth, “Yeah, well…do you wanna come over or not?!”

Geralt could have chided himself right there and then at how that came out.

“Shh!! “ Jaskier said aside to the women, “Geralt, I’m err…a little busy right now but, maybe in a couple of hours? I’m kinda in the middle of something.”

_Yeah, the middle of two women._

“Fine, just get over here.” Geralt growled down the phone, before ending the call.

Two hours. What the fuck was he supposed to do with himself for two hours?! He was angry and sexually frustrated and even emotionally frustrated. In fact especially emotionally frustrated. No, sexually frustrated…ah fuck it whatever he was feeling it was all because of Jaskier! The annoying little shit had done something to him, somehow, made it so he couldn’t focus, couldn’t think about anything but him. He wanted him, to fuck him, to yell at him, to tell him to never come here again but for love of anything don’t ever leave again either.

The voices of those women were running around his head, and all sorts of images were being cast upon his mind that made that ugly thing inside him twist and curl. Why wasn’t Jaskier suffering the same as he? Why was he off enjoying the company of others instead of being tortured inside? What were they doing to him? Were they kissing him? Was he fucking them? What was Jaskier doing that was going to take so long?! Didn’t he realise Geralt was driving himself _insane?_!

He wanted him here and now and under him, he wanted those ridiculously cheerful eyes, that annoying smile, those musical fingers to card through his white hair and make him feel more relaxed than he’d ever felt in his life. He wanted to be surrounded him, by his arms, his scent, for fucks sake he’d never wanted anyone so badly in his life and despite the anger and the twisting ugly thing inside him he was already so hard just standing here thinking about him.

He was going to fuck the living daylights out of that singer when he got here.

* * *

It was _three_ hours by the time the intercom rang, and when the bell to the lift rang indicating Jaskier had arrived on the top floors Geralt ripped the penthouse door open so hard he could have easily ripped it off his hinges.

Jaskier stood there, a guitar case slung over his back, a bright red shirt still half open like before, teasing that chest, and…and an equally red lipstick mark over the corner of his lips.

Geralt practically snarled.

“Ge- _hmph_!!”

Geralt grabbed him by the arms and smashed their lips together, forcing his tongue inside as Jaskier stumbled forward into the penthouse as Geralt dragged him in.

“Geral-“ Jaskier tried again, trying to laugh, but Geralt just hurriedly slid the guitar case off Jaskier’s shoulders, freeing Jaskier’s arms, who in turn decided of their own accord to wrap themselves around Geralt’s neck.

Geralt bent slightly to wrap his arms up underneath Jaskier’s bottom so he could haul him up against the wall, Jaskier’s legs automatically coming up to wrap around Geralt’s waist. Geralt pinned him there, ravishing his lips, the thing inside him squirming with pleasure. Jaskier was making those noises he so desperately needed to hear again, those moaning, mewling little noises that made Geralt’s cock press harder against Jaskier’s where they were pinned together.

But right when he thought he was going to get to fuck him up against the wall, he suddenly felt Jaskier’s arm move to put it between them, pushing against Geralt’s chest.

“Geralt, _mmmph_ …wait…I… _ohhmmpph_ …” Jaskier finally put his hand right against Geralt’s collarbone, pushing him away, Geralt desperate to kiss back, “we need to talk about what happened.” he said quickly, finally making Geralt pause in his feverish advance.

Geralt was panting, desperate, but looking at the sudden serious expression on Jaskier’s face made his libido wain, if only for a moment.

“Fuck,” he panted, releasing Jaskier from the wall letting his legs drop to the ground again, “I know.” he said reluctantly.

This was the part he’d been dreading. Couldn’t they just fuck? Again why did people have to _talk_ to each other?

“Oh?” Jaskier perked up, “So is there anything you want to say?”

Geralt glared daggers at him for a moment, before sighing, “I’m…I’m sorry.”

“ _Fooor_?” Jaskier prompted, and Geralt could have smacked that little cheeky face. He knew what for.

“For telling you to get out like that.” His eyes glanced away, “For treating you the way I did.”

Jaskier gave him a small, warming smile, “Well…you said thank you, that was something.”

Geralt looked back up at him, a small silence between them, Jaskier looking at him so softly and obviously having accepted his apology. Geralt then glanced down to his lips, before gently reaching out and thumbing the lipstick mark off the corner.

“Someone else has been kissing you.” He said quietly, “What else have they been doing?” His voice became very low and slightly threatening, and Jaskier’s eyes did widen just a little at the sound before a terrible smirk graced his lips instead.

“Actually you don’t have anything to worry about,” he said, smugly, “it was a little bit of fun before I played, but it really was just one little kiss right there, nothing else happened. And I’m really very flattered at how jealous that’s made you.”

Geralt blinked, his own eyes wide for just a moment, “I’m not jealous.” He stated, in a very jealous way.

“Oh hohohoHO we are so having his conversation! You. Are. Jealous!”

“I’m not _jealous_!” Geralt demanded, staring at him hard as though to make his point, Jaskier looking like he’d just been handed the best piece of information in his life.

“You so are! Awww that’s so sweet you-“

Suddenly Geralt was on him again, pushing him back against the wall with a heated growl. He pressed his nose and lips into Jaskier’s hair, eyes closing, feeling the softness which somehow instantly calmed him.

“Jaskier,” he breathed, his scent intoxicating, though there was an irritating stench of women’s perfume mixed in with it, “You’ve done something to me. I can’t get you out of my head. I want…I _need_ …” he sighed, both annoyed and aroused, before whispering hotly in his ear, “I want to fuck you again. If you’ll let me, after the way I…”

“Well, isn’t this a conundrum.” Jaskier said, trying to ignore the way those whispered words went straight to his cock, and he pushed Geralt away just a bit so he could see his face, “You see I would very much like to be fucked by you again, oh believe me _yes_ , but…you are right.” his voice became unusually serious, “It did kind of hurt, the way you told me to go that morning. I mean I know we didn’t know each other or anything, but it was kind of like you wanted nothing more than to get rid of me. I thought maybe I’d done something wrong.”

“You didn’t do anything wrong.” Geralt replied instantly.

Jaskier’s smile was so lovely at hearing that, “Okay, so…how about this. You can have me right now, in _aaaany_ way that you want,” he teased, “but afterwards, tonight…you take me out on a date. To a ridiculously expensive restaurant, how’s that?”

Geralt stared at him as though he’d just spoken a different language, “A…date?”

“Yes, a date, You know, where two people meet in a public place and talk about their interests to see if their compatiabl-“

_“I know what a date is!”_

“Are you sure?” Jaskier teased again, “You don’t look like a man who’s dated very much in his life. And yes I know you don’t seem to like talking much about yourself, but it would be nice if you could tell me at least little bit, and you could always just sit there and listen to me.”

A date.

For fucks sake, what was this a punishment? Well he probably deserved it if it was. A night of listening to nothing but Jaskier blabbering on at him about pointless things, in exchange for sex. Hmm.

Perhaps he was becoming a hooker after all.

“Fine.” He agreed roughly.

Jaskier opened his arms wide with a flourish and bowed like something out of a Shakespearian play, “Then I’m all yours.”

Geralt didn’t move at first. Somehow, the chaotic sexual energy that had been fuelling his frustration for the past three hours had faded. Oh he wanted to fuck him yes, and he was going to do so, but the urge to have him forcefully up against the wall was gone. He was feeling…he wanted…

Something softer.

He raised both his hands, cupping either side of Jaskier’s jaw and drawing him in for a deep, achingly slow kiss. He drew his tongue out against his own, softly, sliding, so fucking sensual Jaskier’s knees went buckling beneath him, his hand grasping pathetically at the fabric of Geralt’s shirt as he melted completely into him. He let out a long, erotic moan into that kiss, and that is what Geralt wanted to hear. Those were the noises he wanted.

As he pulled back, Jaskier still had his eyes closed, lips parted, face wonderfully flushed. When his eyes finally did open his pupils were wide and dark, “Wow.” Jaskier chuckled lightly, looking a little bit drunk.

Without a word Geralt took him by his hand. Not his arm like the first time, not dragging him into the bedroom in a frenzy, but just softly by the hand. It made Geralt’s heart beat fast like before, and even Jaskier had a look of quiet shock, followed by looking very pleased with himself. Geralt led Jaskier back into the bedroom, and once there kissed him again, his hands this time running up under Jaskier’s shirt, pulling it free before beginning to unbutton it.

Jaskier caught on quick, and with a little more urgency his own hands went straight to the zip on Geralt’s trousers. Helping each other undress while still trying to constantly keep their lips together made Jaskier laugh into the kiss, and strangely the sound made a shiver run through Geralt’s body.

He wasn’t used to laughter in his life either.

Geralt soon had Jaskier on his back on the bed again once all their clothes were gone. Already grabbing the lube from the draw and desperately wanting to hear those noises he began to kiss and nibble his way down Jaskier’s body, this time taking the time to actually look and feel every part of him. Their first time together had been fast with only one outcome in mind. This time, with this strange need for something Geralt didn’t understand, he wanted to make Jaskier feel…good. Perhaps there was a part of him feeling guilty, but whatever the reason was, Geralt wanted to touch Jaskier.

Everywhere.

He placed light kisses along his jaw and down his neck, and just at that already Jaskier was tilting his head up to give a better angle and sighing delightfully. Wet, sloppy kisses went across his collar bone, and Jaskier wrapped his arms around him, burying one hand in Geralt’s long white hair.

“Ohhh Geralt.” He sighed wistfully.

Geralt had no idea where this was coming from, he felt so unlike himself and yet…yet he liked it. He nosed through the dark curls of hair on Jaskier’s chest until he reached one pert little nipple, and it took it between his teeth just lightly, but Jaskier’s whole body jumped at the sensation and _ohhhhh_ , there went that moan again. Geralt suckled on it, teasing it, his other hand coming up to rub the other one between his thumb and fore finger, and Jaskier’s hand in his hair tightened, his breath coming in short gasps as he moaned Geralt’s name.

The blood rushed to Geralt’s cock at sound.

He felt a tug on his hair so Geralt looked up, and instantly Jaskier was pulling him in for a kiss, hard and wanting, “I’ve thought about nothing but you.” Jaskier whimpered into the kiss, “Do you have any idea-“ he kissed him hungrily, “how many times- _mmmpph_ …“ his moans were making Geralt dizzy, “I’ve made myself cum thinking of you the past few days?”

Oh… _gods_!

Geralt growled ravenously into the kiss, pushing Jaskier down into the mattress, pining him there as he ground his groin down into his, both of them moaning at the feel. So much for slow and soft because how could that carry on now he had the image of Jaskier touching himself in his head? His hand stroking his own cock, bottom lip caught between his teeth as he reached round to use his own fingers to penetrate himself, gasping Geralt’s name…fucking hell!

Geralt drew away from the kiss because he had to get to where he wanted. He quickly slid his hands down Jaskier’s sides and waist and over his hips, Jaskier grinning and squirming at the touch, before Geralt shuffled backwards a little so he could lean down and;

“OhOHHH _fuck_!!!”

Jaskier’s back arced, his eyelids fluttering shut as Geralt suddenly took him in his mouth, tongue hot and wet against the underside. He had one hand palmed on Jaskier’s stomach, fingers curling, scrapping his fingernails down through the little happy trail of hair. The other reached underneath Jaskier, and before the singer had a chance to properly comprehend what Geralt was doing to him he felt a lubed finger come up inside him and _oh_ -!

Oooh _gods_ now that was a moan. It was long and deep and utterly shameless, and as usual it went straight to Geralt’s cock. With sounds like that Geralt didn’t even need to stimulate himself.

He was determined to draw that out of him again.

Geralt hadn’t given head for a very long time, not since he was teenager, but it wasn’t like it was something you forget how to do. He fought back against the natural gag reflex and opened his throat, feeing the tip of Jaskier’s cock hit the back. He pressed his tongue hard against it, using his lips to drag sensation out of it as he moved slowly up and down, taking him, teasing him, his finger underneath joined by a second as Jaskier threw the back of his arm over his eyes, the other grasping a fistful of white hair.

“Ohhohhhh… _uhhh_ …Geralt…fuck… _hgnnnn_ …”

Jaskier’s breath was coming in short, shaking gasps, and he kept trying to raise his hips to get more, greedy for everything, the hand in Geralt’s hair trying to push him down onto himself further. But Geralt pressed his own forearm against Jaskier’s hips to keep him down instead, keeping him trapped in a growing frenzy.

Geralt added a third finger, curling them, lightly brushing against those nerves which made Jaskier nearly buck up off the bed if Geralt hadn’t been holding him down.

“ _UGHH_! AHH!” The hand left Geralt’s hair and instead Jaskier clumped handfuls of his own hair, grasping at it.

The fingers fucking him, the mouth fucking him, Jaskier was being completely assaulted from all angles and his entire body was flushed with heat, running down his neck to his chest. The constant wet heat about his cock, the occasional sinful popping sound as Geralt’s now well fucked lips, an image Jaskier would never forget, would release his cock only to lick up it instead, the heady scent of sex filling the air.

“Hnnnnnn……oh go- oh fuck, G-Geralt…haa! _Uhhh_! Oh fuck I’m gonna-!!”

Geralt moved his arm from across Jaskier’s stomach, curling it around his thigh holding his leg, at exactly the same time he added a fourth finger. Jaskier nearly screamed, and with Geralt’s arm no longer where it was it allowed Jaskier to buck up into his mouth as he came, hands still in his own hair, pulling at it in a frenzy as he came right down Geralt’s throat. Jaskier’s entire body was trembling, and still Geralt moved his fingers inside him as he took all that cum, keeping still around his cock as he swallowed every last drop.

Jaskier was almost chocking on his own breath at the feel of those fingers still moving, his high barely over with before Geralt released his cock and Jaskier found those strong hands turning his boneless body over, allowing himself to be completely manhandled. He ended up on his knees, face down into the pillow, arse raised in the air as Geralt placed one hand on Jaskier’s hip, the other lubing his very hard cock at seeing, and tasting, Jaskier cumming like that.

For once, Geralt didn’t think he was going to last that long this time.

He guided his cock to Jaskier’s well prepared and now completely relaxed from orgasm entrance, his heart racing, his blood pumping. He took a calming breath before he slowly pushed in, and Jaskier let out a long, exhausted groan as he did.

“Gods! Geralt!”

Jaskier bit his lip hard, feeling Geralt grab both his hips as he felt that cock drive all the way in and stay there, easing him fully open. Then with a few slow, cautious movements back and forward again to ensure Jaskier was okay, Geralt found himself in a state close to Jaskier’s of utter sexual bliss as he began to fuck him.

Fuck him _hard_.

At this angle Geralt slid into him so easily, and he brought Jaskier’s hips back and forth to meet with his thrusting cock. Having only just cum so hard and now being fucked so hard, Jaskier already had no words left, for just like the first time he was being fucked into a state of nothing but primal noises, grunts and groans, his mind awash in only the knowledge that he was being fucked, _fucked_ and _fucked_. Jaskier clasped at the pillow, burying his face into it, those desperate sexual sounds muffled by the fabric as on every thrust his head was pushed into that pillow. He was crying out on every plunge forward, his entire body shaking with pleasure.

“Uhhhh, guhh,….G…Ge….. _uhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh_! _”_

He couldn’t even say Geralt’s name, he couldn’t focus on anything but the large, stiff cock ramming in and out of him, the rough hands gripping tightly at his waist, the-OH! Suddenly one of Geralt’s hands moved to the back of Jaskier’s head, clasping his hair, forcing his face to look up and making his back and neck arch even more. Jaskier could feel him moving over him, the other hand running over his back before turning down his thigh, pulling his legs further apart and his hips slightly down.

Geralt was now practically on top of him, the angle changing just that bit more that Geralt was now pounding straight down into him and into the bed, so deeply and possessively that fuck if Jaskier could remember a single thing about his own life anymore. Jaskier’s body was bouncing on the bed every time Geralt fucked down into him, his eyes so tightly closed, his lips and chin shining with saliva that he’d drooled into the pillow, moans now turned to desperate cries of utter sexual desperateness. All he knew was that the more of those gorgeous moans and cries he let out, the harder Geralt fucked him.

So he _moaned_ like a whore.

“Uhhh, ahh! Fuck me! Haaa! Uhhhhh! _FUCK_!”

Geralt could no longer keep as quiet as he liked to, he was beginning to quickly lose his composure, even more than their first time together. His own breathing was coming in short gasps, his eyes rolling at that tight heat, occasionally throwing his head back to get his hair out of his face that stuck to his skin again. Jaskier was so _gorgeous_ like this, completely lost to Geralt’s will, so wanting and open and…ohh…trusting. Yes. That’s what got to Geralt, that’s what made him moan Jaskier’s name into the back of his neck as he leant over to kiss him there, the palms of his hands now on the bed either side of Jaskier’s shoulders, still pounding into him making those moans tumble like prayers from Jaskier’s lips.

“Fuck….Jaskier… _uhhh_ …”

Jaskier trusted Geralt. _Geralt_. The man who should be in jail for atrocities this sweet little singer knew nothing about. But no matter what Geralt did or how disinterested or blunt he came across Jaskier absorbed it all and came back for more. He didn’t understand him, and right now he didn’t care. All he knew was that in every way possible being with Jaskier like this felt more incredible than any sex he’d ever had, and he found himself moaning more than he’d ever done before. The fact that he was the one making Jaskier sound like this, that he was the one doing that to him, that he was the one was making Jaskier feel so fucking good.

The fact Jaskier was letting him.

He bit down on Jaskier’s shoulder, kissing the mark he left as the raw sound of skin slapping on skin mixed with the endless passionate moans from them both. But of all things, it was when Geralt suddenly felt Jaskier’s hand curl around his wrist where held himself up above him on the bed. One little movement, one little touch. To Geralt, it felt like no matter how deeply Jaskier was being fucked he’d taken one moment to reach out for him, to touch him, to say right there; _I want this, I want you._

With a growl so deep and feral Geralt came hard. Hard and deep and _fuck_ , _still_ he pounded into Jaskier! He could feel his own cum around his own cock as he continued to fuck him, still wanting more, and he reached round to Jaskier’s own cock and began to pump it fast in time again. He didn’t want to finish making Jaskier feel good, he didn’t want to finish until he’d made him cum again. And it didn’t take long. In a brief moment of desperate begging pleas Jaskier came for a second time, screaming loudly, body bucking backwards into Geralt, wanting more needing more fuck this should _never stop!!!!!_

Jaskier would realise later that he honestly couldn’t remember what happened after that. All he knew was that when he woke up, still lying on his front, face turned to one side on the pillow, that Geralt was on the bed next to him on his side. He was just looking at him, and as Jaskier blinked at him slowly, brain trying to regain consciousness, he realised Geralt had one hand on his hair, and was stroking it softly.

“Are you alright?” Geralt asked, his voice its usual deep and gravelly vibration.

Jaskier just gazed at him for a moment, his senses re-calibrating, his breathing slow but steady. Then without a word he reached out for him, carefully shuffling his aching body over as his hand fell to Geralt’s cheek. He cuddled up to him, without taking his eyes off his for a second, before kissing him so sweetly, so tenderly, so softly and beautifully that Geralt felt his heart racing for a reason that had nothing to do with sex.

“It would be no exaggeration to say,” Jaskier breathed against his lips, kissing them again, “that you are the best fuck of my life.”

“Hmmm.” There was a hint of smile with that sound, and Jaskier _beamed_ at him.

The singer then pressed himself as close as he could get, Geralt moving his arm so he could give him both more space to get closer and to wrap it around him. They lay nestled together, Jaskier only half awake, tucked away safe and warm and utterly spent in Geralt’s strong arms.

“Let’s sleep for a while,” Jaskier murmured drowsily, nuzzling against Geralt’s neck, eyes now closed as comfort took over, “and then you can take me out for dinner.”

“Hmmm.” Geralt repeated, and with his mind still blissfully away with the fairies after that incredible sex he placed a small kiss to Jaskier’s hair, without even thinking.

Jaskier sighed so prettily in his arms.

He hadn’t been thinking either when he was gently stroking Jaskier’s hair as Jaskier slowly recovered. It seemed if he didn’t think, didn’t let the knowledge of the monster that he truly was come through, that his mind only wanted Jaskier. That he became…soft. Even his expression was soft, for if Yennefer had seen the expression on his face while he was lying there watching Jaskier, hand in his hair, gently playing with the soft strands… well, it wasn’t an expression she would ever have seen.

Mainly because she wouldn’t have let Geralt be that sentimental with her. That wasn’t her.

It was quiet for a moment now, Geralt drifting towards sleep with Jaskier so warm and comforting in his arms, but he suddenly heard Jaskier ask very quietly;

“Did you really just fuck me until I fainted?”

Geralt opened his eyes, not sure on which reaction Jaskier was looking for. “Um…….possibly?”

A small chuckle reverberated through Jaskier’s body, and he squeezed Geralt tighter.

* * *

They drifted in and out of sleep for just over an hour, neither of them moving a muscle aside from the odd stroke of fingertips against skin or a closer nuzzle. It became obvious though when Jaskier was beginning to fully recover from their time together because he started talking. First just the odd little sentence or comment, but then more, and more, and soon Geralt found himself zoning out as Jaskier chatted away non-stop, not really paying attention to a word he was saying.

For the first time though not in an annoyed way. 

He was comfortable, warm, sated, he didn’t really care that Jaskier was jabbering on about…what was it? His agent? Geralt wasn’t paying attention but he was enjoying the closeness, so he let him chatter on, contributing a “hmm” every now and then. Jaskier was infuriating but right now it was more…cute, than frustrating.

This is what happened when he didn’t let himself think.

“Sooo… _now_ can we have a shower together?”

Geralt did hear that, could feel Jaskier move to look up at him, but he kept his eyes closed.

And there might have been a smile there.

“No.” he said, with no malice at all.

“Ohhhh. Whyyyyy?” Jaskier whined, but Geralt could hear the smile in his voice.

He pried one eye open, looking down to the pouting puppy face being deliberately overly cute to try and change Geralt’s mind.

“Hmpf,” Geralt actually smiled for a second time, before closing his eyes again, “Because I like to shower alone.”

“It’s not like there’s nothing I haven’t seen.” Jaskier pointed out, and he then grinned to himself as he began to place kisses along Geralt’s shoulder, a tease of tongue as he made his way up his jaw until he got to his mouth, “Pretty please?”

Geralt opened his eyes again, amusement in them as Jaskier actually had the audacity to bat his eyelashes at him.

“No.” he then nodded towards his own bathroom, “But you can use mine. I’ll take the one down the hall.”

Part of him was guilty remembering he’d made Jaskier go down the hall the other day, and he’d barely even registered the awkward way in which he’d been walking from their fucking. He’d made him go down there when he could have just gone in this one here.

“Wow you are a tough nut to crack.” Jaskier then placed a sweet little kiss against his lips, before beginning to manoeuvre himself out of Geralt’s arms, “But at least you can’t deny I got two smiles out of you just then.”

Jaskier winked at him as he left the bed, and Geralt opened his mouth but felt like there was something blocking his ability to speak and come back at that _atrocious_ accusation! He also never saw the blush on his own cheeks. But Jaskier did, and that was a victory in itself.

“Go get showered and dressed then!” Jaskier ordered, pointing towards the bedroom door, “I could genuinely eat right now after all that.”

As he disappeared behind the door, Geralt just dropped his head back to the pillow, unaware of that annoyed blush still on his cheeks.

Jaskier really was a little shit.

* * *

Jaskier didn’t have a choice on what clothing he wore to dinner, he had to get dressed back in the black trousers and red shirt he arrived in, but now he was having a lot of fun trying to make Geralt look pretty. He’d spent at least the past 20 minutes forcing Geralt to sit in front of a mirror while Jaskier experimented in ways of putting his hair up. Or down. He couldn’t decide what look he liked best. Geralt felt like a barbie doll as he stared back at his own sour faced reflection, Jaskier happily babbling away behind him.

“Swept back like this does extenuate your jawline, and a _heck_ of jawline it is, but oh like this… _this_ makes you look all dark and sexy, hair framing your face, maybe a tie here…”

He went on and on but in the end Geralt found his lip twitching in a smile at seeing how happy Jaskier looked. Facing a mirror he couldn’t deny seeing it this time and when he caught it he quickly regained his annoyed looking composure. He wasn’t going to admit how nice it felt to have Jaskier’s hands just constantly running through his hair.

After all that Jaskier decided in the end of have the hair down, no ties at all, just letting it fall naturally over Geralt’s shoulders, pulling some long strands of it down over the front.

“Happy now?” Geralt asked, turning to look up at him.

Jaskier grinned at him, “Now for the clothes.”

“Oh for… _Jaskier_! I can dress myself!”

Jaskier ripped open Geralt’s wardrobe, seeing nothing but black, white, a few greys, “Do you own _anything_ with colour at al- WHOA!” At the base on the floor was a plastic storage box full to the brim with knives. And these were not cutlery knives, these were weapons, “There are knives in here!!”

Geralt’s heart skipped a paniced beat and he shot up from where he was sitting. But he should have known better by now than to worry.

“Oh _please_ tell me you’re going to share some stories about your job over dinner!!” Jaskier exclaimed excitedly, turning back to him with the biggest thrilled grin.

Geralt sighed. Annoyed. _Relieved_. “No.”

“Oh come on please!”

“No!”

“Please? I’l err….repay you?” Jaskier’s voice dropped a little lower as he looked down to Geralt’s groin and then waggled his eyebrows.

Geralt stood there for a long moment. He then walked _very_ slowly over to him, Jaskier looking up at him brightly and expectantly and completely oblivious to the radiating predator vibe that was filling the room. Geralt stood in front of him, gazing at those happy blue eyes, before he tilted his head down as if to kiss him. Just as Jaskier thought that was exactly what was going to happen, letting out a little mewling whimper as their lips drew closer, Geralt just plucked a black dinner jacket out of the wardrobe behind him and then against his lips whispered;

“ _No_.”

But it was said in amusement.

He was smiling again.

Jaskier caught the smile and just playfully pouted as Geralt walked away, “Spoil sport.”

* * *

Now both ready, Geralt had been mentally tallying the places he could take Jaskier for dinner. He didn’t know of many. He didn’t ever go anywhere. But he knew there was a very nice, and very expensive restaurant, as that had been one of Jaskier’s qualifiers, down by the embankment. They could have a view across the river. Perhaps Jaskier would like that.

But as he grabbed his door keys from the little horse bowl, Jaskier’s guitar case still sitting by the wall next to the door where it had been unceremoniously dropped, there was one nagging little thing that he was just going to have to come out and ask.

“Those women you were with.” He said, quietly, “If I hadn’t phoned, would you have…?”

He didn’t want to the finish the sentence. That ugly thing inside him was making noises.

Jaskier walked up to him, looking at him carefully.

“Yes.” He replied, quite matter-of-factly, and it surprised Geralt. It must have shown, because Jaskier just smiled at him, “But you _did_ phone.” He then took Geralt’s hand, and something about that touch, coupled with the sincere and just plain kind look on Jaskier’s face, made that ugly thing melt away into nothing.

“Come on,” Jaskier said, squeezing that hand and grinning, “I’m hungry.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm on holiday now from the 7th-14th and it's going to be pretty impossible for me to write anything during that time so there will be a little delay for the next chapter. I'm going to write as much as I can before I go but I have LONG work shifts coming up so not much time. You never know I may be able to squeeze in a bit of writing on holiday but I'm travelling with my mum, so doubtful ^^; lol  
> PLEASE STILL LEAVE REVIEWS! <3<3<3<3<3<3 Love you all!


	4. “The white wolf?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ok so it'll be the NEXT chapter that'll have a wait on it because of my holiday. I've managed to finish this chapter on the first day away from home, but now I really won't be able to work on much for about a week.  
> *****Also I need to post a trigger warning for this chapter, for mentions of child abuse and drug usage.******

Jaskier genuinely confused Geralt. How could anyone be so excited to go for a _dinner_? How could anyone be so constantly _happy_? Wasn’t it exhausting?

As they walked along the embankment heading towards the restaurant Geralt had in mind, Jaskier was grinning from ear to ear and hanging off Geralt’s arm as if they were newlyweds. He was beaming at everyone they passed, saying hello, what a lovely evening it was, all the while with one arm hooked around Geralt’s left elbow and the other gripping tightly to the same bicep. They definitely looked like newlyweds. Or possibly a sugar daddy taking his eager toy boy out for a treat. 

Which considering how much money Geralt had, that wasn’t far wrong.

Geralt had learnt, shortly after meeting Jaskier, that there was no point in telling him to shut up. After all he’d kept trying when they first met and nothing had deterred the singer. So he let Jaskier act as though he were parading Geralt around for the world to see, and instead focused on the rich expensive restaurants they were passing. This entire area was known for its opulence, only the best of the best ate along here. The best being the richest. The richest most of the time being corrupt. Corrupt meaning Geralt had probably dealt with a lot of people along here during his lifetime, in one way or another. 

Corrupt meant crime, and that’s where his life was firmly placed.

Still, he happened to know of a nicely expensive restaurant, to keep Jaskier happy, that had some lovely private booths, where hopefully Jaskier could sit out of sight of everyone else and would stop acting like he was every strangers best friend. It made Geralt feel very uncomfortable with so many people looking at him, it threw him off balance.

“Ooooooooooo, let’s go in this one!!!”

Suddenly Geralt was yanked to one side where Jaskier pulled him to look up at 4 story restaurant, with wall to ceiling windows just like the penthouse. Inside were tables set to beyond a five-star standard, with gold tempered table cloths and giant chandeliers hanging from the elaborately engraved ceiling. The patrons eating there were dressed equally as fancy, with fine suits and designer dresses accompanied by large hats, looking like something members of the royal family would wear.

“Hmmm.” It was a hmm of displeasure, for of all the restaurants that could have caught Jaskier’s eye Geralt knew this particular one all too well. “No,” he said firmly, “you’ll never get a table there its reservations only.”

“Ohh come on!” Jaskier whined, pulling on his arm towards the doors, “There’s no harm in asking!”

“Wait, _Jaskier_!” Geralt tried, but still found himself being pulled over towards it. 

He could easily overpower him, easily just stand still and watch amused as Jaskier would try and pull his muscled form with all his strength and not get him to move one little inch. But he didn’t. And he didn’t really understand why he didn’t. He certainly didn’t want to dine here, this place had one of the most corrupt owners on the whole of the embankment, to the point the owner had had dealings with Yennefer. It also didn’t help that Geralt and Yennefer had eaten here several times when they were together.

Damn Jaskier. Why couldn’t he seem to say no to him.

As expected though, when they entered the restaurant the Host explained to Jaskier this was reservations only, and Geralt was all ready to walk out of there…until he saw the look of complete pouting disappointment on Jaskier’s face, and those big puppy eyed blues turned to look at him.

Oh. He was going to regret this.

“Excuse me,” Geralt said to the Host, “I know the owner. If you go and tell him that…” he glanced to Jaskier, “…that the _white wolf_ , would like a table, I’m sure he’d be able to find one for us.”

The woman had an expression on her face that clearly read that she thought Geralt was nuts, but nodded anyway and headed off towards the back of the restaurant.

“The _white wolf_?” Jaskier enquired with a very curiously raised eyebrow, “Is that your nickname in the bodyguarding world? Ooo how do you know the owner? Was he in trouble once did he need a bodyguard??”

Geralt ignored him. He kept his eyes on the Host, who interrupted a conversation with a very well-dressed man who was talking to a patron. From this distance you couldn’t hear what was being said, but you could certainly see the charming expression on the mans face instantly change to one of fear. The man immediately looked up towards the entrance, and on seeing Geralt standing there shushed away the Host and hurried over himself.

“Geralt my friend!” he smiled, but never had there been a more terrified smile, “Of course we have a table for you. Up on the veranda? Lovely warm weather this evening for a meal up top.”

Geralt nodded curtly, unaware of the jaw dropping excitement on Jaskier’s face as they followed the owner through the lower restaurant to some actual golden escalators that would take them through the floors to the very top.

Jaskier was still hanging off Geralt’s arm, and he leant in close and whispered excitedly as they were led, “Oh my gods _how_ do you know him _what_ happened _what_ is your life?! Bribing your way in just by dropping your _secret spy name_ this is like something out of a movie.”

Knowing he wouldn’t shut up unless he fed him something to keep him happy, Geralt quietly told him as much as he would let on, “He got into some trouble a few years back, I helped him out of it, that’s all.”

Truth was the owner was a secrets trader. With the kinds of people that ate in his restaurant he got to know some powerful people, and he’d sell their secrets to the highest bidder, to which most of the time was Yennefer. Two years ago his head was getting a little too big for his shoulders and was raising his prises far beyond what Yennefer was willing to pay. So she got Geralt to “remind” him exactly who he was dealing with. Geralt had shot him in the leg before pinning him against the wall by his throat, and through the choking strangled sounds of excruciating pain the owner had succumbed to Yennefer’s suggested prices and they had remained that price ever since.

So, from a certain point of view, Geralt had helped him. Helped him realise he was better off with Yennefer on his side than against him.

As they were led out onto the veranda, the owner quickly removed the Reserved sign on one of the tables and offered them the seats. From up here they could see high above the river, watching the boats slowly meandering down. The breeze was warm, and the air filled with the smell of the all the wonderful food being cooked beneath them.

Jaskier sat down like an overly enthusiastic child, absolutely buzzing with excitement. Geralt shot the man a furious glance as he sat down at his own seat, wondering if he remembered that this was the exact same table he used to eat at with Yennefer.

* * *

Geralt’s cheeks felt warm with wine. The wine, the atmosphere, the sparkling lights of London reflecting in the river, the fact the owner had ensured no one else had joined them on the veranda, it was all inviting and beautiful and finally Geralt was no longer thinking of Yennefer. Only Jaskier. Jaskier had his own warm glow to his cheeks too as he rabbited on about…what was it now, how brazil nuts weren’t actually nuts they’re seeds? 

This man had the uncanny ability to talk forever and never get to the point of anything. It was frustrating, annoying, _fucking_ -…calming. It was like static white noise. Really, _really_ fucking loud white noise, but with Geralt’s mind never far from thinking about the awful things he’d done in his life or wondering what problems the next job might entail, it was calming to not think about anything except how _annoying_ Jaskier was. He never knew annoyance and calm could go together so well, but he just didn’t think around Jaskier. Couldn’t get a thought in edgewise with him carrying on like that. Most people would think that was an insult towards the other person, but it really wasn’t for Geralt. He never knew how much he needed noise to block out the quiet, and to be honest…he was slowly kind of getting used to Jaskier’s constant babble.

Geralt had been leisurely sipping the £3,000 bottle of red wine for a while now (actually one of the cheaper ones), his mind blissfully empty as he blinked slowly at Jaskier as the man continued on like a programmed robot. Geralt would get in the odd relevant sentence every now and then just to make it seem like he was paying attention, but otherwise didn’t contribute much to the conversation. Just listened to the noise.

But that was after the starter. By the time they started the main course and Geralt had ordered another bottle of wine for the table, he began to find himself actually paying attention to Jaskier. Not necessarily overly interested in anything he was saying, but maybe adding a few more comments than before, perhaps almost turning this one-sided conversation into an actual dialogue between them.

Jaskier was intelligent, witty, flirtatious of course, and had a stupid sense of humour that Geralt didn’t realise was starting to wear down his defences. There was an odd smile that appeared every now and then, like a crack in his concrete face. Just for a moment, almost one that shouldn’t really be public, one meant for himself as he’d smirk and cautiously shake his head at how ridiculous this man was.

He'd find himself gazing at him. Mind still blank. Just…gazing.

By the time the desserts started, Geralt had never talked more in his entire life then he was at this table. Jaskier had always asked so many questions about everything and until now Geralt had ignored him, but he found himself wanting to answer some now, even the stupid questions, like “Do you think it’s going to snow this winter?” or “Have you ever gotten so drunk that you’ve fallen asleep with your face on the rim of the toilet?”.

At this precise moment, half way through their desserts, Jaskier had started a conversation about how he was always told by people that he had a knack for telling a lot about someone just from looking at them. Like how he knew he’d like Geralt the moment he saw him sitting alone in the corner of the pub looking like the entire world was sitting on his shoulders.

Geralt let out a _hmpf_ , and then said after a sip of wine, “It’s my _job_ to be able to do that.”

“Oh?” Jaskier said, sitting up straight and putting on a deliberate cocky smile, “What can you tell about me?”

Geralt watched him for a moment, analysing the information he’d collected so far, before he leant casually back in his chair, swirling the wine in his glass. It was a very relaxed pose. Very unlike him.

“You come from a dignified family.” He began, “Paid, classic education. You’re an only child. You’re not a…disappointment, to your family, but you’re not doing what they wanted you to do. You taught yourself the guitar, and you’ve always been able to sing even as a child. You enjoy the life you have, though you think there’s something more out there for you. And despite your reaction to my penthouse and this restaurant you do have money that you’re not afraid of spending.” Geralt paused, taking another sip of his wine, “Oh, and although the name Jaskier is kind of a giveaway you are half Polish and spent the first half of your childhood there before moving to the UK.” He swirled his wine again, watching Jaskier’s incredibly impressed face. Geralt let slip another crack of a smile, “Did I get anything wrong?”

Jaskier just stared at him, a lopsided grin to his awestruck expression, “Wow. I mean… _wow_ , no you didn’t get anything wrong. Ha! That was _amazing_! How did you know I was raised in Poland before moving here?”

“Your accent.”

“My- my accent? I thought I’d lost my Polish accent.”

Geralt shook his head, “To any normal person you sound perfectly English, but I can hear the inflections, every now and then.” After all he’d had a lot of practise at listening to Jaskier talking now. “As for everything else, you’re too much of a free spirit to have sat down and had lessons, you took off into the world with your guitar and your voice and that’s where you stayed. The English accent you do have is well spoken, well educated, and therefore, paid. The only child was more of a guess only because you haven’t mentioned any siblings and you do talk about everything, and the fact you haven’t mentioned your parents at all suggests that you’re not on the greatest of terms with them. But you said you live outside of London, and due to the fact you have money to move out into London should you want, I’m assuming you still live with them so things aren’t that bad. You love them despite not necessarily seeing eye to eye.”

Jaskier _stared_ at him, “You got all of that just from my accent and because I hadn’t mentioned my parents?”

Geralt let a smug smile escape, “Like I said, it’s my job.”

“Hang on where are you getting the idea that I have money from?”

“When we first met, you told the barman to put their finest bottle of wine on tab for you. You didn’t even question how much that was. No one as young as you these days has money to be throwing away on a stranger in pub without checking the price. You also gave a 20 to that busker. Not a big hint but no one gives away that kind of cash unless they can afford to.”

Jaskier pressed his lips together in thought, pretending to lead him astray, “Maybe I’m just a nice person?” he suggested.

“Hmm.” Another quick smirked graced Geralt’s lips, “Or maybe you bought that designer shirt yourself because you want to look good in the top fashion no matter the cost. What is that, a two? Three hundred pound shirt?”

Jaskier couldn’t hide his impressed grin any longer, “Well…ok maybe I have a bit of money, but there’s a big difference between a bit of money and a _penthouse_ , and spending thousands of pounds on bottles of wine in this place!”

“Maybe.” Geralt said.

What he didn’t know was where Jaskier was getting the money from, but he could take an educated guess that it was from his parents. Any immigrant family who could afford to move here and give a privately paid education to their son resulting in that kind of accent could afford to treat that son to the very best. He assumed his parents must be specialists in some form of job. Doctors perhaps, or something of the sort. That was most likely why they did not approve of Jaskier choosing to wander around with a guitar.

“Well, what about Geralt? “Jaskier said, picking up a strawberry from his plate and popping the entire thing into his mouth, and then talking around it, “Thash definely no’ a’ Englishhh name.”

Geralt found himself shaking his head and smiling again. How many times had he smiled during this dinner?

“I don’t know where I’m from. I was abandoned as a very small child. My mother could have been from somewhere else, but I don’t know.”

Geralt then blinked, and looked away. He’d said that so fast, like it hadn’t even occurred to him to not tell him. He had never once told anyone that. Not even Yennefer. Not that they had ever talked much about each other’s personal lives…in fact he was beginning to wonder why he had hung on for five years. The more he compared his relationship with Yennefer to the incredibly short one he’d had so far with Jaskier, the more he realised that perhaps he’d been holding onto Yennefer hoping she’d become something she would never be. He still wasn’t sure what that was, but…Jaskier…he could talk to Jaskier.

Apparently.

“Oh.” Jaskier said, a mixture of intrigue and sadness, “That must have been tough.”

“Mmmm.” Geralt murmured, not elaborating any further. 

He was suddenly uncomfortable, not only with the subject but with the strange fluttery unknown feeling it gave him in his chest at why Jaskier was so easy to talk to.

“Sooo, what happened? Were you adopted? Fostered? I mean you must have had some sort of family at some point.”

The corner of Geralt’s lips raised in a sad, fleeting smile, and his eyes gazed down to the table top, “I never had a family.” He said, and then quietly added, “I wished I did though.”

Even Jaskier, usually with no sense on when he’d gone too far on a subject, could sense this was not a conversation Geralt wanted to have.

“Okay, well…give me something about your job then. Please? I know you said you wouldn’t but all I know is that you’re a bodyguard and that you have a ridiculous amount of money, but you and all the stuff I’ve seen in your place doesn’t add up to just a normal bodyguard. Give me _something_.”

Geralt was really feeling strange. A mixture of alcohol and talking more than he’d ever done, teetering on the edge of saying things that were long since dead and wished forgotten. It was like he was being peeled open, like someone was just running their fingers along the pages of a locked book, teasing their way into figuring out how to get inside. It had to have been the alcohol, for Jaskier had asked him several times about what he did in his job before and Geralt had happily denied him each time. Now though. Now…

He felt vulnerable, around Jaskier, and he wasn’t sure if he liked that feeling or not.

“I work…” he began, and then paused. He wanted to say. He couldn’t say. “I work for someone who…” he looked at Jaskier, his bright eyes so obviously trying to hide his excitement that oh my gods, was he going to actually get some information? Geralt sighed, and shook his head, the lock on the book remaining shut. “Sorry. I can’t tell you. For your own safety.”

“My own safety?” Jaskier scoffed with a chuckle, “What do you work for a mob boss?”

He laughed at his own joke, and Geralt concentrated on every single facial muscle to not give away that yes, 100% correct Jaskier, got it in one now here’s your prize.

“Alright, well what about that wolf medallion? Surely that’s got something to do with you being called the white wolf? And what is with that is it a codename? Are you _really_ sure you’re not a secret agent?”

“I’m really sure.” The medallion lay underneath his shirt, hidden from view. It was heavy. As it always was, and not just in weight.

Jaskier then leant forward, and whispered with all the cheek he could muster, “Can I call you my _big white wolf_ in bed?”

Geralt froze where he sat. Something deep inside him shuddered, and not in the way that Jaskier would have hoped. He swallowed, suddenly very aware of how forcefully he was keeping his breathing slow.

“No.” he said, trying not to sound as stern as he wanted it to be. He kept reminding himself that Jaskier was innocent, “Don’t call me that. Please.”

Something about the please at the end made Jaskier’s flirtatious face drop almost instantly into one of concern. He leant back again, looking at Geralt, and Geralt could feel his own tension radiating off himself that, apparently, Jaskier had now picked up on. There was a small pause between them, before without a word Jaskier got up from his seat and walked around to Geralt’s side. Geralt watched him silently, blinking up at him in uncertainty, before Jaskier just simply leant down and kissed him.

It was such a sweet kiss, one that was so obviously trying to chase away the dark cloud that had suddenly appeared around Geralt’s entire form. Jaskier’s hand gently held his cheek keeping his face turned up towards him, the other gripping the back of his chair. Geralt could feel Jaskier’s thumb stroke across his cheek, his lips pouring nothing but care into the kiss, and once again Geralt’s heart began to race.

That happened a lot around Jaskier.

When Jaskier parted from him, Geralt found himself forcing his breathing to be calm for a different reason. A better reason.

“What was that for?” he asked quietly, and slightly breathlessly.

Jaskier just shrugged, but there was a gentle, knowing smile on his lips, “You just looked like you could do with a kiss.”

It was suddenly just then that Geralt was reminded that of all the things he had told Jaskier he’d noticed about him, that he hadn’t told him the most important one. That Jaskier was kind. Kind, and thoughtful, and sweet towards a man lost in a corner drowning himself in alcohol and sorrows. Caring towards a man who he didn’t know, at all, but still wanted to help feel better. Doting towards a man who of all people in this world for Jaskier to have picked, had no clue on how to handle that kindness.

“Jaskier.”

That was it. That was all he could say. Just a name. But in the name was everything he’d just thought, he just…couldn’t articulate it. But that name said aloud made him feel engulfed with that compassion. He didn’t deserve any of this affection, but it didn’t stop him from feeling like he was craving it.

“You know Geralt,” Jaskier continued, that cheeky grin back on his face as he sat back down on his own chair, “getting information out of you is like trying to wring water from a rock. But I’ll break you down yet, you just wait.” He said with a confident wink.

Geralt would never admit it, not even on his death bed, but even he could feel the heat rise to his cheeks as his pale skin blushed.

What was happening to him? 

* * *

They spent a long time sitting there at the end of their meal, still talking, and drinking, and when they eventually left Jaskier gripped possessively onto Geralt’s arm again and was grinning once more like an absolute loon. The only difference was all the beaming smiles were now directed only at Geralt, and not complete strangers. As they walked slowly back along the embankment towards the penthouse Jaskier just seemed ridiculously happy, and kept sighing just as happily as he’d rest his head against Geralt’s shoulder, cuddled as close as possible against his side.

“You know I’m really glad at how much I got you to talk to me today.” He said through a sappy grin.

“But I didn’t tell you anything.” Geralt pointed out.

“True, but I meant everything else. All the little things, small talk, you know, holding actual conversations with me instead of just letting me do all the talking. There’s only so many times I can respond to a _hmmm_. It was nice to see you relax.”

He squeezed his arm and placed a kiss to his shoulder, and Geralt felt his mind do that odd blank thing again, and without thinking he gently pulled his arm loose from Jaskier’s grip so he could wrap it around his waist instead. Doing that felt right, like it was something Jaskier might like for him to do. And he was certainly right, for Jaskier actually mewled, a proper little super cute sound of joy, and wrapped his own arm around Geralt’s waist too. Geralt liked that sound.

“You know I think I could get used to this.” Jaskier smiled wistfully, eyes closed as they walked, snuggling against Geralt’s neck as he plastered himself so close to him, “Let’s walk along here for a while before going back, this is nice.”

Geralt could smell his own shampoo in Jaskier’s hair where he’d had the shower earlier today, and Geralt could not resist nuzzling against it once more. They walked past the penthouse, the riverside getting quiet of people now. It was a lovely evening he had to admit, and walking with his arm holding Jaskier’s small waist it was…oddly comfortable. It was not a feeling he was used to. None of this was.

Suddenly out of nowhere his comfort was ripped away from him. Quite literally, as Jaskier was torn from his arms by an unknown force. Geralt jerked around towards him in an automatic response, but stopped when he saw Jaskier being held by a young man with a hoodie covering half his face, who was also holding a large knife to Jaskier’s throat, pulling him back away from Geralt.

“ _Oooookayyy_ ,” Jaskier said, a forced calm to his panicked voice at the tight grip on his arm and the cold kiss of sharp metal against his throat, “let’s not do anything hasty here.”

“ _Shut up!_ Give me your wallet!!” the young man screamed at Geralt, “Or he dies!” The man backed himself up against a wall, holding Jaskier in front of him like a shield.

“Yes, good, yes Geralt give him your wallet Geralt give the nice man the money Geralt, _Geraaalt_!” Jaskier suddenly exclaimed, ending an octave higher than normal as the knife pressed further against his skin.

It was as though Geralt’s vision around the pair had sunk into the blackest black, where the only things that could be seen were the man threatening Jaskier’s life and Geralt’s own golden eyes holding him there with the deadliest stare. He didn’t move. Barely breathed.

Rage was a powerful thing to try and hold down.

“Drop the knife.” He said, his voice utterly dark and commanding, “And I promise I won’t smash your head into that wall.”

“ _Fuck you!_ Give me your wallet!”

The man was shaking, desperate, a junkie most likely. Had to have been to have taken a look at Geralt and thought ah yes, there’s an easy target. For a moment there was a stalemate, Geralt’s furious eyes not moving from the mugger, his mind working on all the weak spots he could use, but when the tiniest, smallest whimper escaped Jaskier’s lips as the knife edge just gently broke his skin, Geralt’s rage was let loose like a tornado.

In a flash of movement so fast that not even Jaskier could follow it, the back of the man’s head was suddenly smashed violently into that wall as promised. At the same time Geralt had grabbed the wrist holding the knife, keeping it still as Jaskier fell away from them. He then spun the body of the dazed robber round on the spot keeping a hold of that wrist, meaning the arm stayed in the wrong place as he was turned to face the wall. There was a resounding _crack_ from the shoulder socket, the man screamed, the knife dropped, but he didn’t have enough time to finish his scream before his face was now smashed into the wall too, blood now pouring from his broken nose.

“You touch him again,” Geralt snarled viciously into his ear as he pinned the man hard against the wall, “and I’ll rip your balls up through your throat. Understand?”

Geralt took the terrified gurgled bloody mess of a whimpered response as a yes, and he threw the man away from them, who staggered dazed and in pain as quickly away from them as possible. Knowing never to turn your back on an enemy he watched the mugger until he was out of sight, making sure he was entirely gone before turning back to Jaskier.

“Jaskier, are you okay?”

Jaskier…appeared to be in a world of his own. He was standing there looking very dazed himself, and he had his hand to his neck where the tiniest cut could be seen. But he wasn’t looking afraid at what had just happened, he was looking…

Jaskier hurriedly took the few steps needed to get to Geralt and kissed him so hard it actually caught him off guard. Geralt’s eyes went wide at the sudden feel of a very hot tongue absolutely demanding forceful entrance, and it took a moment for his brain to get in gear to let him in. Jaskier’s arms had slung themselves so tightly around his neck and his entire body was pressed desperately to his, one knee bending up in-between Geralt’s legs. The moans Jaskier was releasing into the kiss sounded like the ones he made when he was close to orgasm, and Geralt’s head began to spin.

“That…” Jaskier began, before kissing him so hard again and gripping handfuls of Geralt’s hair, pulling his face down hard against his own, “was the hottest thing I have ever witnessed.” His voice was intense and dripping with lust, and all Geralt could do was blink at him.

Once again Jaskier was having a reaction to a situation that Geralt was entirely not expecting.

Jaskier stared at Geralt as though he’d just been told he could have any wish he wanted and Geralt was the subsequent result. He then grabbed his arm and pulled him swiftly back the way they came.

“We should go back to the penthouse.” He said quickly, practically dragging Geralt along behind him.

“What? But I thought you wanted to walk along—”

“Forget that.” Jaskier interrupted, his voice still sounding like a deep melting pot of desire, “You need to take me back to yours right now so you can fuck my brains out. I mean really, fucking hell Geralt what you do to me!”

Geralt didn’t know whether he should be impressed, concerned, or amused at all this.

He chose amused.

“Oh.” He simply said, a lowkey smug grin of his own making its way through as he let himself be dragged along by his now sexually desperate singer.

It had taken a while for Geralt to fit it all together, but it was plainly obvious now from all of Jaskier’s reactions to everything he’d seen, the gun and the knives and the mystery threat that surrounded Geralt’s job, that Jaskier, well…

Jaskier had a kink for danger.

* * *

**Many years ago…**

Geralt was a small and malnourished child. Having been abandoned on the streets at such a young age he’d found himself almost instantly taken in by what his innocent mind had thought at the time was a nice, caring group of people. The people laughed together, chatted together, shared something that had smoke coming out of the end of it with each other, shared…needles, with each other.

He soon found out they weren’t as nice as they’d seemed. In exchange for very small amounts of food and a grimy piece of floor in the corner to sleep on they’d make him run errands for them. It wasn’t too bad at first. Handing over packages to people in shady parts of the city in exchange for money, a few petty thefts that he quickly became very good at due to his tiny size, nothing that got him personally into a lot of trouble. The public never suspected a child. He was never caught. He was quick, stealthy, learnt from the others how things were done in this city. In this world. 

He did drop one of the packages by accident once and it split, pouring into a puddle. He never understood why he’d been beaten so hard for losing a package of flour. Even as he sat crying in his corner, ribs bruised, fingers broken, his white hair, long even then, falling over his bloodied face. He assumed it must have been important somehow. He assumed he’d done something terribly, _terribly_ wrong.

They didn’t feed him for days for that.

As he grew older, the leader of this little street gang took a shine to him. His name was Blaviken, an old man who’d been inside the seedy underbelly of London for most of his life. Geralt took his notice for he had gotten only better at his errands as the years went by, his innocent mind no longer innocent. He had now learnt exactly what was in those needles, knew exactly how to steal a mobile phone right out of someone’s hands or right out of a store. Did he ever question if it was right? Why would he? He’d never been shown different. He did what was expected of him and that way he had a place to live and some food, what else was there he needed?

He also now knew exactly why the man he was handing that package over to was shaking as he handed him back a wad of cash, desperate to get his hands on the powder inside.

Geralt soon became Blaviken’s number one boy, and due to Geralt’s appearance and quick abilities had nicknamed him his white wolf. Geralt began to always be by his side, to travel with him to meet other equally shady people, picked up how to use knives in attack and defence, and more than once protected the man from someone trying to hurt him. You could call it his first step into bodyguarding. 

In return for his loyalty, Blaviken would treat him to sweets and an actual comfy bed to sleep in, all for being a good boy. His good little wolf. He once offered him a smoke as a reward for a particularly tricky heist where Geralt had joined his men for the first time working together. Geralt had to admit to himself he wondered what it might be like to smoke that joint, the others always went so calm and relaxed afterwards. 

He’d thrown up after he tried it. Blaviken had laughed and clapped him hard on the shoulder.

Just before Geralt’s thirteenth birthday, still too young for his voice to have even broken yet, Blaviken had called him into his squat. It was barely anything more than an office chair and desk with a few stolen laptops on and a squalid bed to the side.

“Sit down.” Blaviken had told him, nodding over to the side of the bed.

Geralt sat down obediently, and Blaviken took out a silver medallion on a chain to show him. It was the head of wolf, encircled by a frame of metal. Geralt gazed at it, intrigued, before looking up at what was essentially his father with a hopeful expression.

“Is that for me?”

Blaviken had smiled. It was an unpleasant, almost toothless smile.

In return for getting the medallion, and to officially prove Geralt’s loyalty and become a proper true respected adult member of the gang and not just an errand boy, he had to prove himself in a new situation. There was a family; husband, wife, teenage son and a small daughter around Geralt’s age. The man had a very successful electronics business in the centre of the city, mostly helped by Blaviken who moved said stolen electronics for him, in secret of course, selling them on the black market. The family didn’t know what the husband did, as far as they were concerned he was an amazing man, happy and loving and everything a family could want in a dad.

But he hadn’t paid Blaviken for six months. He’d had his fair share of warnings, and now Blaviken had run out of patience.

“ _No one_ uses me.” Blaviken had said to the small Geralt, “And no one lives to say they tried. Your job is to kill all four of them. Don’t give a shit how you do it, but don’t leave any evidence. Think you can do that for me? My little white wolf?” He had reached out to touch Geralt’s hair, slowly running it through his fingers as though it were strands of real silver.

Geralt’s sense of right and wrong had always been completely screwed growing up with junkies and black market smugglers, but even he knew killing other people was pretty much on top of the bad pile of things they did around here. But it wasn’t like he hadn’t seen anyone be killed before. A rival gang had tried to raid this place once. Some of Blaviken’s men had stabbed them, blood splattering on the walls. Geralt had seen it all from where he’d been sleeping in the corner. For a moment his heart raced, fear gripping him…but it was only for a moment, because then the men weren’t moving anymore. Any anger or pain on their faces was gone, and the people around him who he’d grown up with were laughing again. It was a good thing then, that those men had died. The dead bodies weren’t so scary anymore if everyone was happy again.

Blaviken had dangled the medallion in front of Geralt’s face like a tease. This was the only life Geralt knew, and to become a proper member, to be given bigger and better jobs, to have proper responsibility, to be an _adult_!! To have come from nothing and to prove his worth…well, there was no choice was there? It was everything he wanted.

He’d grinned, nodding enthusiastically.

What did death mean to him? He didn’t know those people.

Heading to the address given to him that very night he’d slipped past the security of the large home, quietly entered the bedroom, and without any thought at all except the excited knowledge of the praise he was going to get for completing his mission, he covered the sleeping husbands mouth with one hand and slit his throat in one simple stroke. He could have been slicing an apple for the expression on his face. The man shuddered awake, startled, his eyes meeting Geralt’s if only for a moment as the blood gurgled from his throat. He went still again.

Geralt went to the other side of the bed, repeated the process with the wife, her terrified eyes having a glimpse of recognition that this was a child murdering her. A _child_. But then her eyes went unfocused, and her body still. He then went to the teenager next, the young man snoring loudly. Another slit. Then finally, Geralt slowly opened the door to the little girls room. There was a small machine in the corner projecting stars onto the ceiling. Every inch of wall was covered in posters of the girls celebrity crush, and a cat lay sleeping on the foot of the bed, the tip of its tail swishing softly if its own accord.

Geralt had walked up to her, bloody knife in hand, and looked down at her sleeping face. She really had to have been almost the exact same age as him, but her face showed no signs of hardship or pain. Even in her sleep the girl had a smile. She looked healthy, warm and loved. Such a contrast to the pale, thin boy standing over her, a boy who had never heard of love. A boy who had no family. Geralt found he couldn’t stop looking at her. His fingers flexed around the knife, but it didn’t move from his side.

He wondered…if it was the man, the husband, who had done wrong…why did the rest of his family have to die? This little girl, with the unfinished homework on her desk and the bedside lamp in the shape of a dragon, what had she done to deserve death? Yeah Geralt didn’t know her, didn’t care about her, but…she looked like someone he would have liked to know.

She was…innocent.

Something about that, something about knowing that this life could have been his if he hadn’t been abandoned, that this innocence could have been his if he wasn’t surrounded by the filth and grime of the London underworld, something about this girl made him step away.

Innocence needed to be left alone.

He left without a sound, the cat’s tail still swishing.

When he returned to Blaviken, having been telling himself the whole way back that it was okay, that he’d killed three of them and that would be enough, that would be alright, well…it hadn’t been alright. Blaviken had smacked him hard around the face.

“FOUR! FOUR NOT FUCKING THREE! HOW CAN YOU EXPECT ME TO TRUST YOU AGAIN YOU FUCKING PATHETIC SHIT!”

Geralt didn’t like it when Blaviken got mad, it’s why he always did as much as he could to keep him happy, to do the jobs that were given to him. But now he’d made him _really_ mad. The beating would be brutal he knew it and for once Geralt had tried to run for the door. The punishment would be worse if he was caught running, but he couldn’t get that little girl out his head. The whole place was in his head, the house, the family, the love that filled that building before Geralt had literally sliced his way through it, only growing a conscious after it was mostly too late. When that girl awoke and she saw the brutal bloody murder of her family her innocence would be stolen, and it was Geralt that had taken it.

He couldn’t stand it. He may not have taken her life, but he had destroyed it anyway.

“COME HERE YOU LITTLE CUNT!”

Blaviken had grabbed Geralt by the hair, pulling him back, Geralt screaming in pain as he tried to hold onto the roots as he was lifted entirely by his hair and then thrown onto the bed.

“You wanna be an adult I’ll show you what adults do.” Blaviken snarled as he had reached for his belt, “You look enough like a girl.”

The tears in Geralt’s eyes from the pain in his scalp now fell down his cheeks as his eyes widened in terror. Geralt had seen this before, with the others, some half-dressed girl in more makeup than should be possible to stay on one face being taken into one of the rooms. The doors weren’t always closed. He’d seen things. And he’d seen the state some of them left in.

But like so many times before he only let fear take him for a moment, just one little moment, and then something inside him snapped.

As Blaviken grabbed him and tried to tug down Geralt’s trousers, that second of fear passed, and terror turned to fury. Geralt took the still bloodied knife that was still concealed on his belt at his side and shoved it right up through Blaviken’s naked balls. The old man screamed in absolute agony, trying to pull back, but Geralt followed, keeping the knife where it was, pushing it further upwards, a vicious snarl to his pretty face.

“There,” he said darkly, in his voice that was still very much a childs, “that’s four. Have I earned my medallion now?”

He then ripped the knife to the side, spilling the bowels and intestines onto the floor, and Blaviken fell to the ground with a long drawn out groan before lying completely still, blood pooling around him. Geralt looked down at him, looked at the man who had raised him, had taught him everything he knew…and turned away. His expression was stoic, uncaring, as though he’d witnessed nothing but a stray bit of litter blowing into his path.

He took the wolf medallion that was sitting on the desk and put it around his neck. 

He then left the room, wanting to simply walk away. To where he didn’t know, but far from here. But the others, they’d heard the scream. Geralt found himself facing more people he had grown up with and had to fight his way out. It was fight or die; they weren’t giving him a choice. By the time he had reached the front door he was covered in blood, and with a string of dead junkies behind him it would seem the Blaviken street gang was no more.

When word got around what this child had done, Geralt had gained himself yet another nickname, and the reputation that you didn’t piss off The White Wolf, the Butcher of Blaviken.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yes, a bit of terrible back story.
> 
> And yes, there will be a very possessive horny Jaskier in the next chapter ;)
> 
> Love me with reviews my friends! <3<3<3


	5. “It wasn’t a no.”

Jaskier hadn’t been kidding. The sight of Geralt brutally attacking a man to save his life had him so fiercely turned on Geralt was now seeing a whole new side of him he’d yet to witness. In the lift going up to the penthouse Jaskier had Geralt pinned against the wall, ravishing his mouth like he was a drug that he urgently needed his fix of. Jaskier’s hands were everywhere, buried in Geralt’s white hair, grabbing handfuls of the shirt on his back, heavy breathy moans just constantly escaping him.

“Fuck Geralt I want you.” He moaned out desperately into his mouth, and Geralt couldn’t help the amused, sarcastic retort.

“Really? I hadn’t noticed.”

Jaskier’s cock was already poking into his hip. 

Trying to navigate out the lift and putting keys into your front door when you had a highly sexed singer hanging off you was exceedingly difficult. But Geralt managed, throwing his keys without even looking into the horse bowl as Jaskier climbed him like a tree, leaping up to wrap his legs around his waist as Geralt quickly held onto him from underneath, all the while having his lips under constant attack as he headed blindly towards the bedroom.

He dumped Jaskier rather uncharacteristically onto the bed and Jaskier immediately pulled himself up to the edge and had his hands on Geralt’s trousers, fumbling awkwardly with the zip in his haste, pressing his entire face into Geralt’s shirt and the tightly muscled body beneath it.

“I’ve wanted to do this the moment I saw you.” He breathed into it, and Geralt had barely slipped his smart dinner jacket off himself when Jaskier suddenly slipped off the bed onto his knees and had his tongue lavishly licking around the head of Geralt’s cock. Geralt let out a startled, gurgled sound from the back of his throat at the sudden sensation.

A sound he would never admit he made.

His hands automatically flew to Jaskier’s hair, burying themselves in it as Jaskier held the base of his cock with his hands and with no pause at all in his assault just wet his lips and tried to take him in. Geralt was big in his size and he wasn’t even fully hard yet, finding Jaskier’s whole reaction to him saving him more funny than anything. But with the enthusiasm Jaskier was smothering onto his cock, that hot tongue and firm grip of his hands, those wet slurping sounds and the way he _moaned_ sending those shiver inducing vibrations around his cock…it wasn’t taking long for Geralt to be gripping that hair very tightly, eyelids fluttering closed and his own breathing coming in shuddering gasps as Jaskier swallowed him down as far as he could go. Again and again. He couldn’t take him all the way, but his hands did the rest, pulling and squeezing and oh _fuck_ , Jaskier really was talented in many things.

It didn’t take much for the sexual beast in Geralt to rise with this happening, and any amusement soon turned to lust. In the back of his mind he was always self-conscious of his size, not wanting to hurt Jaskier, it’s why he always made sure Jaskier was prepared enough no matter what he said. But with the way Jaskier was now peering up at him, his big blue eyes holding contact with his own as he swallowed him down, _fuck_ Geralt couldn’t help but hold Jaskier’s head there as he thrust forward. Just a bit, that self-consciousness still there, but Jaskier just took him in, moaning delightfully at the forcefulness, saliva dripping down his chin as Geralt pulled back to make absolute sure he was okay.

Jaskier peered up at him, breathing heavily, and Geralt ran his thumb over Jaskier’s red lips, smearing the saliva there.

“Do that again.” Jaskier panted, lust heavy in his voice, and without waiting for a reply simply pushed the head of Geralt’s cock passed his lips again and took him in, jaw going as lax as he could make it, taking Geralt’s hand that fell from his lips and putting it back in his hair.

Geralt groaned deeply, gripping that hair and trusting forward again as requested. Jaskier held onto the back of Geralt’s thighs, ensuring he didn’t pull away and just kept on sliding his cock in as far as it would go, again and again, Jaskier almost choking but holding onto Geralt’s thighs so he couldn’t pull away. He wanted this, oh fuck he wanted Geralt to fuck his mouth. Jaskier’s jaw ached, he couldn’t breathe, but every time Geralt’s huge cock hit the back of his throat making him choke his own cock got harder and harder.

“ _Fuck_ , Jaskier!”

Geralt honestly couldn’t remember the last time someone had done this. Well it would have been Yennefer, but a _long_ time ago. She didn’t exactly do giving, she was more the taking sort. Geralt had always been happy to give but so rarely had her thoughts been of his pleasure. He’d almost forgotten what this felt like, and Jaskier was so _eager_ , so _noisy_ , unashamedly so. He could feel Jaskier’s grip on his thighs, pulling himself closer, making his cock go deeper, fuck how was he even taking him in he couldn’t be breathing but still he kept going. 

Another low growl rumbled up deep from Geralt’s chest as a wave of heated desire ripped through his body, and suddenly Jaskier found himself being lifted up, Geralt’s cock popping out of his mouth, his lips now very red and swollen. Geralt lifted him up so high Jaskier half yelped half laughed, wondering what on earth he was doing, until Geralt dropped him back on the bed, crawling over him and just like their first time together he ripped down Jaskier’s trousers and underwear all in one go. 

“ _Ohh_ Geralt, when you do that I jus-“ he was cut off as Geralt kissed him roughly, and Jaskier clawed at the shirt he was still wearing. In fact they were both still wearing everything.

He somehow managed to push the shirt off Geralt’s shoulders, but in doing so his hands brushed against something hard and cold tucked into the back of Geralt’s trousers. Jaskier’s eyes went wide and utterly dark when he realised what it was.

“Oh fuck is that…did you have your _gun_ on you during that whole date?”

That slight amusement came back in Geralt’s eyes at the heavy sexual reaction Jaskier was having, and he nodded, pressing their foreheads together and whispering against his lips, “I always carry my gun.”

If it was possible Jaskier’s eyes got even darker, and he let out a very strange noise, somewhere between a moan and a squeak and something utterly feral.

“So you could have…” Jaskier visibly swallowed, his breath coming in forced slow breaths, “…you could have… _shot_ that man…if you needed to.”

“If he pressed that knife any further against your throat,” Geralt ran his thumb over the tiny little scratch that marked where Jaskier’s life had been threatened, “I’m not sure he would have walked away at all.”

And he meant that. Really he did. He carried his gun with him at all times because it wasn’t like he was unknown in the underworld of London. He was the White Wolf, the butcher, the bodyguard of Yennefer Venderberg, people came after his life every now and then. After all a quick route to Yennefer was to get rid of her bodyguard, so it was natural for him to have his gun at all times.

It was a fucking turn on for Jaskier.

Jaskier smashed their lips together, a tangle of tongues and groans as he tried to take the gun out, but Geralt reached round behind himself and took it out quickly, keeping it out of reach.

“It’s not a toy.” He said through the feverish kisses, only half scolding, placing it on the bedside table.

Although Jaskier let out a moan that was part disappointment part understanding, nothing was deterring his fierce hard on. Just the fact the gun had been there was enough, and in a tousled mess of trying to get the rest of each other’s clothes off and Jaskier plastering himself to Geralt in every way possible, Jaskier managed wiggle his way into flipping them both over, Geralt now on his back and Jaskier straddling him above.

“Sit up against the headboard.” Jaskier ordered, his voice as dark and commanding as Geralt’s had been to that mugger.

And Geralt, without question, and with a shot of pumping hot blood heading to his cock at the sound, obeyed.

As he sat up, bringing Jaskier along with him, Jaskier cradled Geralt’s head in his hands and kissed him ravenously, moaning and rubbing himself up against Geralt’s abs, his cock achingly hard. Geralt reached out towards his bedside drawer again, trying not to let the heady taste of himself on Jaskier’s tongue make him lose his own mind and just fuck up into Jaskier right there and then.

“What you did back there,” Jaskier panted into their kiss, hearing the top of the lube pop open somewhere behind him, “that was incredible. I’ve never- _urghhh!”_ Jaskier bit his bottom lip, letting out a wonderful groan as he felt Geralt’s lubed finger breach him once again. “Ohhh _fuck_ , oh I’ve never, neeever seen anything like that, not in real life.” Geralt buried his face into Jaskier’s neck, kissing and licking and biting anything he could get his lips around as Jaskier continued to talk. “You really, ohhh yes,” Geralt licked across the scratch, “arghh _fuck_ , you really hurt that guy…for me. You did it for me.”

Jaskier found his lips and kissed him again, lapping at his tongue, moaning deeply as Geralt added another finger. Jaskier pushed down onto them, making them go deeper, making himself moan even louder.

The noises were doing sinful things to Geralt’s brain.

“I did it for you.” Geralt repeated, his own breathing coming in heavy as he watched Jaskier fuck himself on his fingers, Jaskier throwing his head back at Geralt’s words and constantly alternating between biting and licking his own lips.

Geralt added a third fingers, and Jaskier’s cock was already leaking, pre-cum dripping down the slit and being rubbed onto Geralt’s stomach.

“Oh gods fuck me Geralt, fuck me right now!”

“Not yet.”

Four fingers, just to be sure he had to open him enough for four fingers, but fucking hell Jaskier was having none of that now. They’d already fucked today after all and in Jaskier’s desperate mind was ready! He lifted himself up off of those fingers, grabbed the lube and kissed Geralt senseless as a distraction while he lathered Geralt’s cock.

“Jaskier-“ Geralt tried to warn into the kiss, mind awash in pleasure, but Jaskier just raised his hips and sank down onto Geralt’s cock.

At least about a third of the way, before Jaskier grit his teeth and hissed sharply. Geralt quickly grabbed his arms to steady him, to keep him up, panic on his face, but Jaskier just shook his head, “N-no.” he stuttered, making his breathing steady, letting that ridiculously sharp tight pain ease as he got used to it. “I want this…” he breathed, and he lowered himself more, a groan of both pain and pleasure falling from his lips as he made it half way, “I want to feel this, I want you.”

Geralt was torn between the pain that was obvious on Jaskier’s face, and his own pleasure of how _fucking_ tight this was. His cock was being enveloped in such a hot, slippery heat, he didn’t know what to do, so he just let Jaskier do what he wanted, what he needed. Slowly but surely Jaskier sank all the way down, his thighs now resting across Geralt’s abdomen where Geralt had slowly slid down from where he’d been sitting up, perhaps in a subconscious effort to try stop Jaskier from trying to impale himself on him.

It now left them with Geralt’s head against the pillow, looking up at Jaskier straddling him. Jaskier’s head was thrown back and was he was still breathing heavily, face still contorting into a few expressions of pain as he adjusted himself, letting himself be filled and stretched until it felt okay to move again.

“Jaskier…are you sure you’re alright?”

It took a moment for Jaskier to reply, but when he did he peered down at Geralt with a lopsided grin, “I’ve never felt so good in my life.”

He then moved, just a bit, just enough to test the waters, before sinking back down again and letting out another long drawn out moan. He then placed his hands on Geralt’s chest for purchase, and moved again, slowly up, slowly down, Geralt’s hands palmed against Jaskier’s thighs as Jaskier began slowly fucking himself on Geralt’s cock.

The amount of moans falling from Jaskier’s lips felt unholy. His eyes were closed most of the time but when he did open them, when he did they were fixed on Geralt’s, a piercing blue gaze that felt like it was penetrating right through into Geralt’s soul. If he had one. Geralt couldn’t look away from them, he felt trapped by them, but a trap he was gladly falling in to.

When Jaskier finally fell into a good rhythm, he leant back upright again, placing his hands on top of Geralt’s on his thighs, taking complete control of the speed. The bed faced out towards the wall of windows that Jaskier had been complaining about had no curtains. The stars were out, as was a bright half-moon, and all of it was the backdrop around Jaskier above him.

Geralt was mesmerised.

He ran his hands up and down those thighs, never stopping in watching Jaskier gently bobbing up and down on top of him, slowly getting faster, slowly getting more needing.

“Fuck, Geralt, uhhh, _fuck_ you’re… _uhhhhhhh!”_

Geralt had snapped his own hips upwards, catching Jaskier off guard, plunging in deep and hitting that sweet bundle of nerves. Jaskier gasped deeply at the sudden feeling, another long continuous groan falling from him. Geralt did it again, and again, and soon Jaskier’s sweet little bobbing speed was changed as he was fucked up into, now bouncing on top of him.

“Uhhh…yes….oh _fuck yes_ …”

Geralt ran his hands up to Jaskier’s waist, holding him there tightly, nails digging into soft skin as he helped raise him up and down on every thrust as he fucked upwards, snapping his hips up every time Jaskier was coming down. Jaskier had that gorgeous flush on his skin again that went from his cheeks all the way down his chest.

Geralt saw Jaskier’s eyes glance to the side where the gun was, and apparently at just the sight of it had Jaskier biting his lip again and throwing his head back, rolling his hips into Geralt’s thrusts making his cock stay even deeper inside him. Geralt found his eyelids flickering as his eyes rolled behind them, the heat so intense, so raw, and fuck if Geralt found once again that he was making more of his own grunts and groans while having sex with Jaskier. He never used to make much noise before.

The man was just…intoxicating.

“Fuck!” he growled aggressively, his own head thrown back against the pillow, peering up at Jaskier through golden eyes that were but a tiny circlet around the black.

Jaskier just continued to fuck down onto him, rolling his hips every time, finding that sweet spot and crying out on every thrust.

“Oh gods! Geralt! Uhh! _Ahh_! Would…would you… _ohhhh!_ Would you always come to my rescue?” he asked through many panting breaths, his skin glistening through the exertion, his eyes still falling to that gun, “Would you hurt anyone who tried to hurt me? Hmm? Would you? Oh _fuck_!”

Geralt changed the angle, raising his knees so his feet were flat on the bed so he could really fuck up into him. Jaskier arced his back, palms falling to Geralt’s chest again as he still continued to try and talk, his voice sounding higher than before as the passion began to engulf him, “Would you protect me from all the bad people? _Uhhhh_ …ohhh…would you?”

Geralt wrapped his arms around Jaskier’s shoulders, Jaskier’s palms slipping on the sweat on Geralt’s chest and falling down flat. Geralt cradled him there as he continued to fuck up into him, Jaskier’s body feeling hot and boneless and completely _his_ against him. And now knowing what he’d want to hear, what was turning him on so much, Geralt whispered hotly and deeply in his ear;

“I would fuck up anyone who tried to hurt you.” He then licked across the shell of Jaskier’s ear, “And then I’d fuck you, because I know that’s what you’d want.”

“ _Haah_!” Jaskier voice shivered, as did the rest of him, “ _Yes_!”

Jaskier smashed their lips together again, not a breath between them, not caring in the slightest about the mess or the noise, only focused on the rush of sexual heat that flooded his entire body at those words. Geralt wasn’t much better, for Jaskier’s seemingly insatiable force of lust was just bombarding him, and for once for once he didn’t think he was going to last that long.

Jaskier was pounding himself down onto him, crying out into the kiss, Geralt fucking back upwards, pushing him forwards, Jaskier having to hold out a hand against the wall to stop their heads from banging up against it. Geralt gripped Jaskier’s cock between them, for he could feel his own orgasm creeping up on him, and Jaskier moaned so loudly he was glad he had no neighbours.

“Jaskier…fuck…Jas…” Geralt bit his own lip, face contorting into absolute pleasure that he was desperately trying to hold back, to outlast. This whole session was mad, desperate, longing, feverish, it felt like Jaskier wanted to fuck him for the rest of time.

“Geralt!…I’m…oh fuck don’t stop!”

Jaskier suddenly sat upright, eyes closed as he fucked himself madly on Geralt’s cock, up and down so hard his floppy fringe was bouncing along with him. Still he was framed by starlight. Still Geralt was captivated. Then very shortly Jaskier’s hand flew to Geralt’s around his cock. He stilled but for a moment, back arching as a deep almost scream came right up from his chest, the silence turning into the loudest groan as he came with a shot of white pulsing upwards only to land on Geralt’s chest. Jaskier then _squeezed_ downwards on Geralt’s cock, and Geralt immediately came with his own savage groan, still staring up at the beautiful Jaskier against the night sky before having to squeeze his eyes shut and arch his own back, driving up wildly for a few shorts bursts as he pumped himself as deep inside Jaskier as he could get.

Geralt’s chest was heaving as Jaskier collapsed back down onto it, both of them panting wildly, Jaskier pressing tiny breathless kisses to Geralt’s damp skin before resting his cheek right in the middle of his chest just under his chin, letting his high come back down. That sticky mess was between them chest to chest, but Jaskier couldn’t have cared less.

After quite a while, and for a change, it was Geralt that broke the comfortable silence.

“You’re very strange.” He said, running his fingers through Jaskier’s short hair.

Jaskier snorted against his chest, “ _I’m_ strange? Says the man with the mysterious bodyguarding job the gun and the box of knives in his wardrobe?”

Geralt couldn’t help a sleepy smile, “All of which seems to turn you on. Ergo, strange.”

He could feel Jaskier grin against his chest, “Oh please, you were getting just as hot and bothered at the idea of saving me don’t deny it you scamp.”

“Hmpf.” He smiled lightly again, “Strange.”

Another comfortable silence took them, Jaskier still cuddled on top of him, Geralt still fingering through Jaskier’s hair, his mind once more in that blissful state of empty. Jaskier felt so good just laying there. A part of Geralt wished they could just stay here like this, never having to face the outside world, his job, none of it. Just safe and warm and away from everyone else outside these walls.

“Geralt?” Jaskier asked a short while later, “Will you be my boyfriend?” Geralt slowly opened his eyes from where he’d been dozing. “I mean I know you won’t tell me anything about what you really do, and don’t think for one minute I’m going to stop asking about it either but…maybe one day you will tell me. And I know you’ve technically only broken up with someone and although I wouldn’t want to be a rebound lover I do think there’s something between us and…well I just really want to be with you, so, please? Please can I be with you?”

As usual Jaskier took an age to ask one simple thing, but it was a thing said in such earnest. Geralt looked down to the mop of chestnut hair resting on his chest, and as it seemed like always after sex with Jaskier that Geralt’s softer side became the dominant side, he placed a small kiss to that hair.

“Jaskier…” he began, his mind still free of any negative thoughts, everything was only the man in his arms, “…I could be anyone. Aren’t you even the slightest bit concerned over what you’ve seen here?”

Jaskier’s response was just to cuddle him tighter, “The only thing I see is a caring, beautiful man, who despite his secretive job and knowledge on how to beat the _crap_ out of people I only see someone who wants affection. I told you I’m good at sensing that, and that’s all I get from you. A lovely lonely man who needs me in their life. _Specifically_ me.” he grinned again his skin, before turning to look up at him, “So? Can I be yours?”

Geralt gazed at those pretty blue eyes, the ones that weren’t scared of him, the ones that had done nothing but shine with warmth whenever they looked at him. The eyes that looked past the obvious warning signs and just saw a man, alone, and craving the touch of someone who would give him all the innocent things he’d been denied from birth. There was no darkness around Jaskier. There was no hate, or pain, or fear, or death. There was just that bright smile and those bright eyes and that bright cheeky attitude.

Jaskier was a light in the dark, and Geralt was being welcomingly blinded by him.

“Hmmm.”

There was a curl of a smile to his lips.

Jaskier grinned, raising himself up on his elbows to get a better view of that trying-not-to-smile face, “ _Ohhh_ , now that wasn’t a no.”

“It wasn’t a yes either.” Geralt pointed out, that tiny smile desperately tugging at his lips, wanting to come forward, his entire chest feeling ridiculously light.

“Yes but it wasn’t a nooooOOOooo!” Jaskier sang playfully, as Geralt annoyingly tried to manoeuvre his way out from underneath him, trying face away from him so he didn’t see the smile that just about broke its way through as he stood up.

“I’m having a shower.”

“ _Now_ can I join you?”

“No…not today.” Geralt added, a tiny surprisingly cheeky smile glancing Jaskier’s way as the singer smiled brilliantly at him.

“Not _today_? Ah see, I’m getting closer Mr I Shower Alone!”

Geralt just rolled his eyes as he went into his bathroom, feeling warmer than he had ever felt, leaving Jaskier to fall back on the bed with his arms splayed above his head looking thoroughly fucked and happy. 

“It wasn’t a no.” he grinned to himself.

* * *

There had been no question as to whether Jaskier stayed the night or not. It just happened. Jaskier just crawled into Geralt’s bed beside him after they’d both cleaned up and lay curled against him, sleeping so peacefully in the arms of the man with a handgun still sitting on the bedside table.

It was the middle of the night when Geralt awoke to his phone vibrating loudly in his jacket pocket, the same dinner jacket that had been thrown to the floor when Jaskier had dropped to his knees. The jacket was now on the back of the chair across the room, so as gently and quickly as possible he unhooked Jaskier’s arm from around his chest, the singer sleepily snuggling down into the pillow, and he crossed the room.

He pulled out his phone. It was Yennefer. He turned back to Jaskier to signal that he needed to take this in the other room, but Jaskier was still fast asleep, so he quietly left through the bedroom door, closing it behind him before he answered.

“Yen.” Geralt answered his phone, catching the end of Yennefer yelling at someone about a security door.

“Geralt! I’m gonna need you at my place tonight, those fucking Nilfgaards have just tried to break in.”

“Are you alright?”

“Of _course_ I am. Managed to shoot one of the morons. Took me off guard though so I missed him but it caught his ear and he’s bled all over my new carpet, the shit. He’s going to be retuning home with a sour story.”

“Hmm. I’m surprised you let him go.”

“Oh come on Geralt you know these idiots, they need putting in their place like a pack of broken in dogs. If he returns as a failure then it’ll be a lesson. One they’ll probably ignore but hey, at least they can say I was fair before I have them all killed.”

The Nilfgaards were a rival crime family to the Venderbergs, or at least they thought of themselves as one. They’d never really gained much power, certainly not enough to enter the battle of territory between the Venderbergs and the Cintras. Those were the two families that had the biggest rivalry. Those were the two you dealt with if you wanted something done in this city. Those were the two that dealt with more illegal activities than probably the entire country combined.

The Nilfgaards had always been a pain, but it seemed tonight, of all fucking nights, they had to pick to try and cause a fight. Geralt glanced to his bedroom door.

“Okay, I’ll be over as soon as I can, I just have to…deal with something first.”

“Telling your new lover boy you can’t play with him tonight?”

Geralt paused. There was no anger in her voice, if anything she sounded…pleased. Teasing almost. He sighed, shaking his head. He should have known Yennefer would send someone to watch him for a while. Probably making sure he didn’t run off to a rival family after the break up. He wasn’t angry with her. It was normal. Although he was rather alarmed that he hadn’t sensed anyone around, it was his job after all.

“Sending someone to spy on me Yen?” he asked, a small unsurprising smile to his lips.

“No need. When you’re dating Julian Pankratz you just need to look online for photos.”

“Who?” Geralt asked without thinking.

“Although I’m surprised at you Geralt,” Yennefer continued, ignoring him, “I wouldn’t have thought of all people that you’d allow a celebrity into your kind of life. Bit of a risk isn’t it? He could become a high target, put him in danger. Oh and by the way if someone kidnaps him asking for a ransom I am _not_ paying it. As much as it is nice to see a smile on your face you could have at least waited a _day_ before finding someone else to fuck.”

Geralt was completely stunned. He had so many questions his mind was _spinning_. 

“Yen…what the _fuck_ are you talking about? Who’s Julian Pankratz? What…what _celebrity_?”

“Geralt please, don’t fuck me around I’m not in the mood.”

“Yennefer I’m not fucking you around! Yeah okay I admit I am going out with someone,” wow, he actually said that aloud, “but his name is Jaskier, he’s a singer but he’s no celebrity.”

There was a pause the other end, “Geralt, I’m sending you some photos. I don’t know what you’re playing at but look at them.”

Geralt looked down at his phone, and a few moments later it vibrated again to say two messages had arrived. The first one he opened looked like a screenshot of an online article entitled GOSSIP SECTION, where a few sentences were listed by bullet points, all of them mindless gossip about people Geralt had no clue about. Until one near the bottom:

  * _The adorable folk singer Julian Pankratz was spotted by one of our eagled eyed readers having a proper snog on session in the rain with some handsome white-haired **male** No photo evidence yet, but is our darling Julian coming out as bisexual? We’ll keep you up to date with any more information! _



Geralt’s heart rate dropped dramatically. That…did sound like him. It was raining, and the date was right, and he was obviously white haired…but… _Julian_? He swiped across to the next photo, which was a proper photo, again screencapped from a website. The photo looked like it was taken on a mobile phone at an awkward angle but…there he was. With Jaskier. This was only a few hours ago, when they were walking along the embankment towards the restaurant. This was when Jaskier had been joyfully saying hello to every single person they’d walked past, holding him tightly arm in arm looking exactly like either the newlywed couple or the sugar daddy and toy boy. The Geralt in the picture was glancing to Jaskier and…smiling. He didn’t remember smiling.

There was one tiny sentence typed in the bottom corner of the photo:

**_Julian Pankratz, night out on the town with the new boyfriend?_ **

Geralt suddenly felt horribly sick, his entire stomach feeling like it had left his body. What the fuck was going on? Who…Julian…Jaskier, was _famous_? He couldn’t have anyone famous here it would paint a target on them both. And why did he say his name was Jaskier? W _hat the fuck was going on?_

“Geralt? Are you still there?”

Geralt tried to keep his breathing calm, anger and…fear, fuck yes it was fear, and it was all consuming him. He put the phone back to his ear, “I’ll be there Yen but I’ve got to go.”

He hung up the phone, staring down instead at the photo of the joyfully happy face of the man currently lying in his bed. His mind was still racing, questions building, anger fuelling! He looked to the bedroom door before storming back through it. He needed answers.

“Who the fuck are you?!”

Jaskier’s entire body jerked in his sleep as he was suddenly rudely awoken by such a loud voice. He blinked sleepily, turning around to look at Geralt, “Wah?” he yawned widely.

Geralt thrust his phone into Jaskier’s face, who blinked again to try and focus his sleepy eyes. He took the phone, staring down at the picture of himself and Geralt and his real name in the corner.

“Julian Pankratz.” Geralt said spitefully, “Famous singer. Why the fuck did you tell me your name was Jaskier? And more importantly why the _fuck_ didn’t you mention you were famous?”

“Um…” Jaskier murmured, his brain still waking up, “why is that more important than my name? Wait but, right um, the name…yes, about that.” He did have the decency to look a little sheepish, “Well, you see you didn’t seem to recognise me when we met and well…it was kind of nice. So when I offered you my name I didn’t want you to recognise me by that _either_ so I…said it was Jaskier.”

“Didn’t _recognise_ you?!”

Jaskier blinked up at him, “Well yeah. I mean I wasn’t lying when I said I had a bit of a reputation for being a brilliant singer, and I did say that everyone else in that pub had been cheering except for you. That was the pub I had been scouted in so everyone knows me there and I thought I’d pop in and surprise them. I mean I’m not _hugely_ famous yet but I’m getting there, I’m just a humble little folk singer.” He grinned, not sensing the fury at all that was radiating from Geralt. “Oh and I am sorry about the name thing, I was going to tell you but then things kinda got…more interesting…” he smiled cheekily, “and it felt kind of awkward. But I suppose _technically_ it is kind of my name as well, my grandmother in Poland used to call me it, still does. It means buttercup. I could never decide whether to use that as my stage name or my real name but I chose my real name in the end. She said she reminded me of a buttercup because I was always ‘cheerfully bright and always damned everywhere’.” He frowned to himself, thinking, “Was never entirely sure if that last part was meant to be a compliment or not, but I took it as one.” He added merrily, “I mean she could have called me chwast. That means a weed. Nooot so nice that one.”

Geralt glared at him, furious and frightened, the fear making him angrier, the fury making him more scared, it was one big circle along with so many other things he was feeling that he didn’t know how to deal with. It was like all the pieces of a jigsaw puzzle that he didn’t know he’d been making suddenly fell into place. Jaskier...Julian, whatever the fuck his name was, he was right. The people in the pub had been cheering raucously, the clapping had been so loud, but Geralt had been so lost in his own world he hadn’t noticed.

The money. That’s where Juli-… fuck it, Jaskier, that’s where he got his money from, not from his parents, but from his own singing-…oh fuck. Geralt realised Jaskier had told him this, at least he had a vague recollection of him mentioning something about his agent this afternoon after they’d had sex. It was that time where Geralt’s mind was utterly blank as he listened to the white noise that was Jaskier’s voice, telling him about all things, and he remembered something about an agent…yes, his agent was negotiating a deal with a new record company as Jaskier was getting more well known, that was it, but Geralt hadn’t been listening, hadn’t been taking it in. He’d just been _hmming_ a vague response while he lay there happily thinking of nothing. No darkness. No job. Just the spark chatting away in his arms.

And the women! The two women on the phone with Jaskier, he’d even told Geralt to his face they were a bit of harmless fun before he played. Before he _played_! He was doing a concert! Fuck that’s why he took so long to get to the penthouse, that’s why he had his guitar with him! But Geralt hadn’t paid attention to his words because he’d been _jealous_! And not only that but the song in the warehouse, the song that had distracted him. It hadn’t just _reminded_ him of Jaskier, it _was_ Jaskier!

Fucking hell Geralt wanted to smash his own head into the wall! How _stupid_ was he?! All the hints of the fame had been there he’d just been so blindsided by this happy little songbird that he couldn’t think about anything else! When Jaskier was near him he couldn’t think straight, couldn’t even concentrate on the people around them. Geralt never even sensed the person taking that photo, never even sensed just exactly how amazed some of the people who Jaskier was saying hello to actually were, because Jaskier was _famous_ , and he was _talking_ to them, and FUCK! That’s why he hadn’t sensed that mugger either, because Jaskier was warm in his arms and the world was a happy place with no evil there.

He really had been completely blinded by Jaskier’s brightness.

And that _could not_ happen.

Because Yennefer was right. He’d questioned himself from the beginning letting an innocent into his life, even when it had only been the one-night stand, but someone famous, some recognisable on the street. No. Not a chance. This life was not for a celebrity, this life was not for Jaskier. He should have seen this before, but it was that damn affect Jaskier had on him, to not think of all the important things that actually matter in his life, things that would affect Jaskier’s life very _very_ badly. Geralt was famous too, but in very much the wrong side of life. Jaskier would become a target. Jaskier would be hurt. Or worse. He could be used against Geralt by his enemies, and if he was…was _killed_ …

Geralt’s eyes were opening to just how much of a huge mistake he was making.

To think, he’d almost said yes to being his boyfriend.

“You have to leave.”

Jaskier’s face fell dramatically, “Oh no, not this again.”

He scrambled out of the bed covers as Geralt turned to his wardrobe and pulled out a pair of a clean black trousers and underwear from a drawer, pulling them on hurriedly before throwing Jaskier his own clothes from the back of the chair. Jaskier had to go, now, as far away from him as he could get. This couldn’t continue, no matter how good it felt, no matter how much Geralt’s body craved that sweet touch, Jaskier was in danger here.

The clothes landed on the bed as Jaskier finally untangled himself and sat at the edge, “Look I’m sorry okay? I didn’t mean to lie about my name but I _like_ you calling me Jaskier-“

“I don’t care about your name. Just _go_.”

“Geralt!” Jaskier exclaimed, his voice uneasy as he watched Geralt hurry around his room getting quickly dressed, trying his hair back in a loose ponytail as he moved, “Come on you can’t do this to me twice! That’s not fair!”

“Jaskier!” Geralt stopped in his movements and stormed up to him, his face furious and Jaskier shrinking slightly at the force of his mood. “I am going to say this plain and simple. We cannot be together. End of story. Now _get out_.”

Jaskier’s pretty eyes were wide and confused and sad, and Geralt did everything within his power not let that moment of fear that had crossed those eyes as he’d stormed up to him affect him so. But he was angry and confused himself. Angry at who he wasn’t sure, but he was afraid, he knew that, and he didn’t like being afraid. It made him think of his childhood. Fear was something long forgotten. Now he was starting to…to care about someone, he feared for them now. For Jaskier.

But he couldn’t tell him why. He just had to get him to leave, and if that meant hurting him again then, well…

So be it.

This whole affair should never have happened, he should have walked away from that pub and not let him follow him, he shouldn’t have kissed him, should have said no, there were so many things that shouldn’t have happened but they did and it led to this point, with Jaskier picking up his clothes in a state of shock, holding them to himself where he sat not knowing what to do.

“Geralt…Geralt it’s two thirty in the morning there aren’t any trains that can get me back home.”

“Jaskier I don’t give a fuck how you get home but you’re leaving! _Now_!!”

 _Leave, get away from me, go_ , it was a mantra that Geralt was repeating to himself over and over. He could think of nothing else.

“So what, that’s it?” You could hear the tears in Jaskier’s voice as he resigned himself to finally getting dressed, “You’re not even going to tell me why just _get out?!_ _Again?!_ I thought we had something here Geralt what the hell is wrong this time?”

Geralt was ignoring him, hurriedly pulling on a shirt now. He had to get to Yennefer. She was his job. Focus on her, not the man shouting at him behind him. Jaskier didn’t matter, he’d be safe as soon as he was out of Geralt’s life. _Don’t think_ about Jaskier. Thinking about Jaskier made him forget the life he actually led.

“ _Fine_!” Jaskier yelled angrily when Geralt didn’t even look at him let alone answer, not bothering to button up his shirt as he stormed over towards the bedroom door, “But don’t call me the next time you just want someone to _fuck_ and throw out again, because I’m sick of that happening! I like you Geralt, a lot, but I can’t stand any more of this…this emotional constipation towards me! You like me you hate me for fucks sake _make up your mind_!”

“ ** _LEAVE_**!”

The sheer volume of his voice made Jaskier jump, and the fury on Geralt’s face as he’d turned to shout at him made Jaskier’s own anger instantly drain out of him. He stood by that door looking like a frightened deer. It took a moment for him to compose himself, to set his jaw, to stare back at Geralt through vision blurred by unshed tears.

“See you around Geralt.” He murmured so miserably, and he turned and walked slowly to the front door.

He picked up his guitar case, heart feeling like it weighed a ton in his chest. He looked back hoping Geralt was following him. But he wasn’t.

His bottom lip quivered.

He left.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ah yes, the angst time. Please leave me a comment my dears! :D


	6. "You're a good man Geralt."

An attempt on the head of a crime family’s life was a serious matter, and something that would not go unpunished. In the dead of night just one day later Yennefer had Geralt leading a pack of her men into three warehouses around the south-east, all belonging to the Nilfgaard and all filled with their stolen goods.

They burnt all three to the ground, including anyone trapped inside.

Geralt tried to repress the sounds of the screams as he walked away. It was not normally something Yennefer would send him to do, he was her bodyguard after all, not a mercenary. But this was personal, and she wanted her best on the job, and Geralt could not refuse her.

The following morning the head of the Nilfgaard sent a formal apology to Yennefer for the attack on her life, saying it was his son who had organised it and that he will be severally reprimanded for his disrespect. The head may be a sickly old man but at least he knew where his family lay in the balance. His son, Cahir, was desperate to take over the family business, desperate for his father to die, but he was reckless and impulsive and had not yet learnt that he was at the bottom of the hierarchy. Despite any rivalries every family knew there was a certain decorum you kept with each other, a certain politeness even if internally you were plotting their next sabotage. Wars were fought via under-the-table business deals, not by assassins in the middle of the night.

But it would seem Cahir _still_ hadn’t learnt that.

“Hey! _Butcher!_ ”

Geralt stopped and turned very slowly, eyeing up the four men walking towards him. The heavily clouded evening made the shadows seem extra dark against the few flickering lamps attempting to give light to the empty car park he had been crossing. He was on his way home, after spending the past three days with Yennefer ensuring security was tighter and organising more guards around her home. It was strange to stay at hers and be in a guest bedroom, but she never once acted any differently than she did when they were together. She didn’t even mention Jaskier, or rather Julian, again. Although maybe she just had more important things on her mind.

Geralt took one look at the actual crowbars two of the men were holding, large sharp knives in the hands of the other two, and actually let out a small amused scoff at the sight.

“Seriously?”

Geralt made no attempt to run or attack, he just stood there, letting the men surround him, that amused curl still on his lips.

“Our employer wants you dead.” One of them said, pointing his knife threateningly out in front of him.

“I’m sure he does.” Geralt replied, almost lazily.

They had to be Cahir’s men, no doubt. The man just hadn’t learnt there was no point in going round and round in circles, getting revenge for one attack, them getting revenge for that one, revenge again for the second attack, round and round it would go. It would never end unless one swallowed a defeat, but it seemed Cahir was not going to do that.

“He reckons getting rid of you will make it much easier to bring down those fucking Venderberg’s.”

“You wouldn’t be the first to try.”

“You don’t scare us.” The man spat at the ground in front of Geralt, and in that split moment of distraction Geralt took one sharp step forward, and all four of them quickly jerked back away.

Geralt tilted his head, smirking, “Really? Cos to me it looks like you’re shitting yourselves.”

“ _Fuck you_!” the man yelled, but none of them re-took that step forward.

Geralt looked around at them all, “Is this really all he sends after me? Four idiots with a couple of knives and metal bars?”

The man sneered, “What makes you think there’s only four of us?”

Out of the shadows five more of them appeared, stepping into the growing circle around the infamous White Wolf, the Butcher of Blaviken. All of them were similarly armed, and with Geralt now completely surrounded the group grew more daring. Snide, horrid remarks were starting to be thrown his way, calling him Yennefer’s pet wolf, her fuck toy, laughing at him, sneering, asking where his leash was. But as annoyingly cocky as they were, it did mean he was now severely outnumbered.

Geralt let out an irritated sigh, his fingers twitching at his side towards the gun he always had with him, “Fuck.”

Four he could handle, _nine_ of them all at once was going to be a bit trickier.

* * *

Jaskier was sitting in the exact same seat Geralt had been in at the pub. He was doing a very good, albeit an unintentional impression, of Geralt’s circle of doom, managing to keep out even the regulars who knew him before he was famous. Bits of paper were everywhere all over the table, all scrawled with lyrics and music notes. His fingers ached where he’d been strumming and writing for days, but still nothing hurt as much as the weight in his chest.

They’d only known each other for…what, technically barely even two days, but everything had been so passionate and wild, filled with so much longing and want and gods yes _want_. Jaskier _wanted_ to know Geralt, everything, wanted him to stop shutting him out, wanted him to confide in him, wanted to bring that rare smile out more, wanted him to see that no matter what kind of tough guy attitude he put on that he was so _soft_ with Jaskier. Jaskier had never had such brilliant sex in his _life_ gods he was so attracted to him, but…

“Mother of-…” Jaskier screwed up another bit of paper, throwing it angrily across the table at the wall where it fell joining a growing pile of rejected lyrics.

Well not really angrily, more fed up, depressed, and it took _a lot_ to make Jaskier depressed. They barely knew each other and yet he’d never felt such a connection to anyone before. He _wanted_ him…but he didn’t want him to hurt him anymore. If nothing else it made his mind race with new lyrics, but could someone’s heart really be broken after only two days?

Jaskier clutched his hand to his chest. It certainly felt like it.

He leant back against the chair, staring up at the ceiling with an overly dramatic sigh. He didn’t want to feel like this anymore. Maybe it was easy for Geralt to shrug him off but it wasn’t easy for Jaskier. He always poured his heart and soul into everything he did, even meeting the tall handsome stranger, so when he was rejected for anything in life it would hit him hard yes but he’d always keep going. He’d keep smiling, move onto the next thing in life, always look at the positive side because something would always come along that would grab his attention.

Not this time though. This rejection had hit him really hard. He didn’t like it, he didn’t feel like himself. Even his parents had commented on the drastic downturn their son seemed to have had in a very short space of time. They’d left him in his room when he’d returned in the early hours of the morning, red eyed and looking completely downtrodden. And cold. He’d been sitting on an empty train station platform for three and a half hours.

He’d locked himself in his room, the solemn strums of his guitar filling the house as he attempted to write his new song that, by the sounds of it, would have his fans weeping. If he ever actually decided what lyrics were best. When being locked alone didn’t help he went back into London and sat in that same seat as if deliberately torturing himself, hoping maybe being here would help him think.

It didn’t.

It just made him feel sorry for himself.

As he sat there now his phone suddenly rang. He ignored it for a moment, pouting at the bit of paper he’d just thrown, before with a reluctant huff he picked it up out his pocket and answered it without even looking. Maybe it was his agent. Maybe that new deal had been signed. Maybe he’d have a new song for them at some point this year.

“Yeah?” he said, with another deep dramatic sigh.

There was heavy breathing the other end, and that certainly got his attention. He sat up straighter at the edge of his chair, eyes wide.

“Um, hello? Is this a naughty phone call? Cos normally I’d be totally into that but not really in the mood right now.”

More hefty breaths, before one word was barely croaked out, “ _Jaskier_.”

Jaskier’s heart practically stopped in his chest, “Geralt? Is that you?” he let out another sigh, now annoyed, “Geralt I told you not to phone me. Is this going to be your thing? You wait three days each time before you want me again only to throw me ou-“

“I’ve been shot.”

Now his heart really did stop, “What?” he whispered.

Geralt’s breathing was coming in ragged gasps, “I need your help.” He let out a sharp rasp of pain, “Please.”

Jaskier was nodding vigorously to himself, already standing up, “Yeah yeah okay okay what wh-where are you?”

“Home.”

“Okay, okay I’ll be right there! But I mean shouldn’t you go to hospital are you gonna be alright are you _dying_?!” He was panicking now, tripping over the table leg in his hurry to get out.

Another grunt of pain, “No, but…but I am losing blood. Please just, _uhhh_ …get here when you can.”

“Okay I’m coming.” Jaskier panted down the phone like he’d run a marathon, “Just don’t…die!” 

He hung up the phone, and without a word of explanation to anyone who happened to be watching this famous singer seemingly have a crisis in the corner of a pub, he ran out the doors and down the street towards the bridge.

* * *

Over the river in the penthouse Geralt dropped his phone to the floor the moment Jaskier hung up. He sat on the floor next to the front door, back against the wall, having collapsed there the moment he managed to haul his bruised and bleeding body through that door. His shirt was in tatters, purple bruises peeking through the gaps along with blood staining the shirt from the numerous slashes across his chest, back and arms. His right hand clung to his left bicep just under the shoulder, where a lot of blood was seeping steadily through his fingers.

He’d managed to avoid actually being stabbed in the fight, but because of the sheer number of men that were there he’d dodge one attack only to land straight into another. It was like they were trying to bring him down by as many small wounds as possible, a pin prick here and there until he was covered with them and bleeding consistently. But when they realised that wasn’t working and one by one each man was going down, either beaten unconscious or injured too badly to move, one man took it upon himself to try and tip the odds. He jumped on Geralt, trying to wrestle the gun out of his hands that had already brought down three of his men. With a punch to his face and gut from another he managed to get a hold of it, and in the chaos pulled the trigger but missed anything vital, hitting Geralt in the upper left bicep. In the moments horror realisation that he’d missed Geralt had punched him hard in the face, smashing him to the ground, getting the gun back and shooting the final two men.

He’d managed it that none of them had actually died.

Geralt was sick of killing people.

He couldn’t go back to Yennefer. What if there were others? What if they followed him back to her? It was her they were after, after all. So he chose to limp his way home where he’d been heading in the first place, leaving the beaten and bloody but alive bodies to crawl around the car park. He used the back streets, keeping away from people, keeping to the shadows and the alleys. Only when forced to head into the light to get into his apartment building did one old lady see him, and she let out a small scream and hurried over to him, asking what had happened and did he need help. Geralt just gruffly shrugged her off him, grumbling he was fine, was mugged that’s all, nothing that won’t heal, trying to keep hunched over away from her so she couldn’t see just how badly he was bleeding. 

She seemed to let it go, “As long as you’re sure, dear.”

When the penthouse lift door pinged and opened, Geralt staggered out of it, groaning in pain, his right hand clutching his bicep, small drops of blood dripping onto the wooden slated flooring. Staggering into his home he collapsed against the wall, exhausted, the pain coming through more prominently now the adrenaline was wearing off. He needed to get his medical kit, he needed to look at how bad he was, but every time he tried to move his legs, which had a few deep cuts themselves, they just gave out underneath him. 

Gritting his teeth he pressed his fingers against the bullet wound, trying to sense how deep it was. There wasn’t an exit wound, which meant the bullet was likely lodged against his bone. This wasn’t the first time this had happened, he’d extracted two bullets from himself in the past, one in his leg, one in his forearm, but the angles had been easy to get to. This one wasn’t, and he let out a growled cry of pain and removed his fingers, blood pouring down his arm. He wouldn’t be able to get this bullet out without help.

_“Fuck!”_

He banged his head back against the wall in frustration. He couldn’t do this alone. He needed help. He couldn’t turn to Yennefer he couldn’t risk it, not so soon after the attempt on her life, but there was no one else he knew, no one that would help him, no one he would trust.

And then that happy-go-lucky, annoying, adorable face popped into his mind, and somehow he felt even worse.

Jaskier. He was the only one he could call. But this was the exact reason why he told him to get out, that they couldn’t be together. What if Jaskier had been with him out there? Nine of them was tough enough to deal with but having to protect Jaskier as well? Neither of them would have made it out alive. 

The blood dripped onto the floor again, pooling there slowly.

He had no choice.

That’s if Jaskier would even talk to him. With everything happening about Yennefer Geralt had had no time at all to think about the heartbreak on Jaskier’s face, the fear that had crossed it, the anger and the way his voice had trembled as he left. He’d kept himself occupied, thinking of nothing but Yennefer’s safety, not giving himself a chance to think about those sad, confused blue eyes.

But if Jaskier didn’t help him, he didn’t know what he’d do.

So he took out his phone from his pocket, a fresh crack in the screen in the corner that must have happened during the fight, and called him.

* * *

It wasn’t long before a frantic buzzing of his intercom was sounding, and Geralt somehow managed to push his body up against the wall so he could reach the button to let him in, before collapsing back to the ground. He could hear Jaskier’s voice as the lift reached the top.

“Could you be any slower you useless metal _arse_!!”

Jaskier practically fell out of the lift the second the doors opened, hurrying straight into the penthouse as Geralt hadn’t bothered shutting the door.

“GERALT!” He called out, frantically looking around before seeing him by the wall behind the door. “ _Geralt_!! Ho _OO_ ly- _what the hell_?!”

He collapsed in front of him, looking over at the blood that just seemed to be coming from everywhere, his left arm especially soaked in it. Geralt hadn’t been able to see it himself but Jaskier could see the injuries to his face, the dark bruises forming around his right eye and jaw, and the slash from a knife that Geralt hadn’t even noticed just across his hairline, a trickle of blood just stopping above his eyebrow.

Geralt was panting in pain, and any anger Jaskier had towards him now vanished entirely, “Oh gods what do I do what do you need me to do?!” Jaskier asked frantically, and Geralt tried to nod over towards the kitchen.

“Hot water, there’s cloths…under the sink. In the cupboard, _argh_ …on the right, three along there’s a medical kit…and get a bottle vodka from the cabinet… _nngg_ , near where the sofa is.”

Jaskier nodded along hurriedly, before leaping up and running towards the kitchen, repeating back to himself loudly everything Geralt had asked for as he searched around for the items. Geralt just sat there, eyes closed, in pain but feeling almost immediately more peaceful at hearing Jaskier’s voice. It was like he knew he was safe with him here. Which was ridiculous. But he still felt it.

Jaskier just brought warmth and comfort with him wherever he went.

It wasn’t long before Jaskier returned, a bottle of vodka under one arm, cloths under the other, and the medical kit hanging from his fingers as he tried to carry a bowl of hot water over to him, splashing it over the sides in his hurry. He could see Geralt trying and failing very badly to take his shirt off himself.

“Stop that let me.”

Jaskier put everything down and straddled Geralt where he sat, resting back against Geralt’s knees. He gently undid what buttons on the shirt remained, and breathing through his teeth in a grimace began to peel the bloodied shirt away from Geralt’s skin. When Geralt had to let the bullet wound go to get the shirt off, more blood came pouring out, and Jaskier all but yelped.

“Oh god is that the…is that were you were _shot_?! Okay so good not a major organ but shouldn’t this have stitches?! Shouldn’t we be taking you to hospital?!”

“No.” Geralt growled through clenched teeth, “I’ve had worse, and I can’t go to the hospital.”

“Why not?”

“Because hospitals ask questions.” He groaned in discomfort, “You’re going to have to do it.”

Jaskier blinked at him, “Do what?”

“Take the bullet out.”

“ _What_!?” Jaskier now paled considerably, “Oh no no nononononono I’ve never done stitches and I am not digging around in your arm Geralt!”

“In the kit,” Geralt interrupted, no time to argue, “there’s bandages, thread and tweezers. Some pliers if you need them. _Urgghh_ and pass me that bottle of vodka.”

Panicking and freaking out and just generally having no idea how any of this has happened and yet knowing he apparently had no choice but to do it, Jaskier let out a reluctant gurgle of surrender and passed Geralt the vodka before leaning over to open the med kit. 

“Yeah well, hospitals may ask questions but so will I when this is done.” He said bluntly, just as Geralt took a long swig of the vodka, using it as a pain represent, before pouring it directly onto the open bullet wound.

“ _FUUUUCK_!” he hissed out loudly at the retching pain, at the same time Jaskier freaked out in front of him.

 _“What the mother of fuck are you doing?!?”_ Jaskier snatched the bottle away from him, “Are you _trying_ to give yourself more pain?”

 _“Just take out the dammed bullet!!”_ Geralt yelled at him, frustrated and in more agony than he was letting on and now _damn it_ Jaskier was glowering right back at him.

Jaskier kept that glower long and hard at Geralt’s eyes, “Alright, _fine_ , but afterwards we are having a long discussion about your manners Mr.” he said, pointing a finger into his chest, before moving to kneel beside him instead where he could see his arm at a better angle. 

Feeling that anger creeping back again Jaskier used some clean cloth to dab away at the blood seeping out the wound, cleaning around the edge with the hot water, before tying one of the cloths around Geralt’s armpit and pulling it tight, using it as a makeshift tourniquet, and then cleaning it all again.

“Now don’t move.” He ordered, picking up the pair of tweezers and very cleverly disguising just how nervous he really was, “Because I have no idea what I’m doing.”

He visibly swallowed at the wound in front of him. He’d never seen blood on this scale before. Geralt just took another swig of vodka.

“Don’t hit the nerve.” Geralt said, just as Jaskier had plucked up the courage to go in, and now quickly jerked back away again.

_“I have no idea what a nerve looks like!”_

**_“Just get on with it!!”_ **

Jaskier scowled at him again.

“You know it’s a good thing I still like you.” Jaskier uttered, turning his attention back to the hole in Geralt’s arm, cautiously teetering at the edge of the mangled flesh, “Although right now I cannot fathom as to a reason why. If I were a spiteful man I’d find that nerve and touch it deliberately. So I guess you’re lucky,” he went in, as quickly as he trusted himself to do, Geralt gritting his teeth and groaning loudly at the excruciating intrusion, “that I happen to be a wonderfully generous and forgiving man who would never go in for a such a low-brow treatmen-“

Geralt suddenly reeled back against the wall absolutely screaming in agony and fury as his arm felt like it had suddenly been set on fire from the inside.

“ _ARGH **FUCK** _JASKIER THAT WAS THE NERVE!!”

_“WELL SORRY BUT I DON’T KNOW WHAT I’M DOING!”_

* * *

How long it took for Jaskier to actually get a hold of that bullet and take it out neither of them knew, but at the end the sweat was dripping down Geralt’s brow and off his jaw. His head rested to the side against the wall, his eyes closed, his chest heaving with breaths. Jaskier was about half way through doing the stitches, something he turned out to be much better at than removing a bullet. They had shouted and bickered at each other back and forth the entire time, and now suddenly it was quiet again, Jaskier concentrating on the needle and thread while Geralt tried to continue to dull his pain with the occasional swig of vodka.

“Don’t you have any more effective painkillers than a bottle of vodka?” Jaskier enquired quietly.

“I don’t need painkillers.”

“Oh right yes, because you’re _Mr Tough Guy_. Mr Tough Guy don’t feel no pain.” Jaskier mocked, pulling a scornful face as he did, though still concentrating on the needle. “Yeah well you look in pain to me.”

Geralt prised his eyes open, tilting his head to look at him. Despite the screamed words between them, despite the mockery, despite how it had ended before, Jaskier was here. He was still helping him, he hadn’t run off half way through telling him to fuck off to a hospital, saying that he didn’t care about his secrets get your own help. No. He had stayed, through all of it, and he was concentrating so hard on the stitches, pulling a pouting face when the thread got stuck and he tried to dislodge it.

“You were frightened.” Geralt suddenly said, his voice very quiet, “When I shouted at you to leave…you were afraid of me.”

Jaskier paused only for a moment, his eyes glancing quickly to Geralt’s, which were very close now he’d moved his head, “I was…startled. That’s all. Not frightened.”

“No.” Geralt disagreed gently, “You were afraid. I’ve seen that look on people’s faces towards me a million times. I…“ he paused, eyes flickering all over Jaskier’s face as he worked, “I never wanted to see it on yours.” His voice was barely above a raspy whisper, exhausted from the painful trek home and now after going through all this….he just wanted to sleep. “I’m sorry.” He murmured, “I’m sorry I hurt you.”

Jaskier paused again, nearly finished, and looked up at those very tired golden eyes.

“……...you’ve had a lot of that vodka haven’t you.”

“I mean it.” Geralt replied, barely able to keep his eyes open but still managing to hold Jaskier’s gaze.

Jaskier watched his face, only inches apart, and found his heart racing.

He cleared his throat.

“Well,” he stated, tearing his gaze away and using his teeth to cut the thread before he tied it at the end, “as charmed as I am by your half delirious apology this really is a discussion for later.” He reached down for some bandages to tie around the arm, “We’ve still got to clean up the rest of you so no sleepy time, its bath time. It’s the only way I’m going to get all these cuts cleaned properly. So come on, up you get.”

Jaskier undid the tourniquet and then got up and walked around the other side of him, grabbing Geralt’s non-shot arm and hauling him up. Geralt staggered back against the wall so Jaskier put his arm around his waist to steady him, and made Geralt put his own arm over Jaskier’s shoulders.

“Come on. Now…where actually is the bath I’ve only ever seen showers?”

Geralt nodded down another hall, “Far end.”

* * *

“Well I don’t know what constitutes a bath where you’re from but for us normal people this is a _flippin’ jacuzzi_!”

The sentence had been bursting to get out of him since they walked in, seeing a room clad entirely in beige marble and a bath embedded into the floor that would easily fit at least ten people in. But he’d held it in, got the water running, dumped two entire bottles of medical disinfectant in it and helped Geralt out the rest of his clothes. Only when Geralt sat down on one of the marble inner steps, sinking down into the water to just below his shoulders so his bandage didn’t get wet, did Jaskier start on about the bath.

“I mean this thing is HUGE. Do you actually have a Jacuzzi too I mean how big is that if this your bath?! Your water bill must be _insane_.”

“Jaskier.” Geralt grumbled sleepily, peering up at him through one eye.

“Oh, right, sorry.”

Geralt closed his eyes again. The disinfectant in the water made every single slash sting horribly, some of which were worse than others, but even that couldn’t ruin how wonderful it felt to immerse his aching painful limbs in the water. Trails of blood came off his injuries, swirling in the water around him. He could hear a shuffling of clothes somewhere behind him, and suddenly Jaskier’s bare legs appeared either side of his head, dipping into the water as he sat behind him on the floor.

“Right, let’s see what we can do with all this blood in your hair.”

Geralt didn’t even know there was blood in his hair, until he felt Jaskier gently dabbing at the slash across his hairline. Jaskier then used the bowl he’d been using for the hot water and filled it with water from the bath, before pouring it gently over the wound. He shielded Geralt’s eyes with his hands, pushing his head back further towards him so the water ran back through his hair.

“You are a mess.” Jaskier said softly, and he gently ran one thumb across the bruise forming along Geralt’s cheekbone, “It’s going to take a lot of care to patch up these knife slashes everywhere, because that is what they are aren’t they? Is that why you have so many scars? You don’t look after yourself after…stuff like this happens?”

“Mmm.”

It wasn’t an acknowledgement or a disagreement. If anything, it was a sound of contentment. Geralt had kept his head tilted back, Jaskier continuing to pour water through the strands. It felt _good_.

It then clicked that Jaskier had actually asked him something.

“I don’t need anyone looking after me.” He mumbled.

Jaskier ran one hand gently through Geralt’s long hair, right to the tips that floated on the water’s surface.

“And yet…here we are.”

Geralt opened his eyes slowly. He stared up at the ceiling as he felt Jaskier’s hand dip under the water with a cloth to dab at some cuts on his chest, leaning over him, Geralt’s head cradled between his thighs. Their eyes met. It was an awkward angle, but Geralt just kept watching him. His chest felt fluttery, his heart beat quickening, because yes, here they were. Geralt may not need anyone looking after him but he had to admit, it was nice to have it anyway. He let Jaskier gently swipe away the blood and grim along his chest, slow, careful, wiping along the cuts and not against them, causing as little discomfort as he could.

“Why are you still here?” Geralt found himself asking.

“Because I can’t leave you like this.” Jaskier replied honestly, and Geralt felt a stab of both warmth and guilt come up from his chest, “Although if you’re that eager to throw me out again I could just go-“

“No!” Geralt grabbed his wrist as Jaskier made as if to move away. 

Jaskier dropped the cloth as he was grabbed, and Geralt just looked at that hand, the one so lovingly and unselfishly taking care of him. Geralt’s head felt odd, a mixture of alcohol and a dying adrenaline, blood loss and trying to block out pain, not to mention Jaskier’s presence thrown into the mix.

It all made him so tired and so… docile.

Geralt brought that hand to his lips, and ever so gently pressed a kiss to the wrist, right by the pulse. It was a long kiss. He kept his lips there, unmoving, just held against the smooth skin. He could feel that lively pulse beneath his lips, the skin was so warm, inviting……stinking of disinfected like he himself probably did now, but it was still Jaskier.

He could hear Jaskier take in a shaky breath behind him.

“Okay.” Jaskier said, sounding rather breathless, “I won’t go.” He reluctantly pulled his hand away from the kiss, dipping it back into the water to retake the cloth.

But instead of resuming his careful cleaning Jaskier’s other hand just tenderly cupped Geralt’s chin, gently forcing his head to tilt back, right back, and suddenly Jaskier was leaning directly over him and placing a small, heart-warmingly sweet upside-down kiss to his nose.

“You are an enigma, Geralt.” He said so softly.

“Mmm.”

Geralt could stay in this bath forever, his wounds healing, and Jaskier’s warmth surrounding him.

* * *

Patching up the rest of Geralt took just as long as removing the bullet and having the bath combined. There were just so many cuts and slashes, and every single one of them was tenderly cared for by Jaskier. Healing gel and gauze was placed over all of them, and then one giant long bandage was wrapped around Geralt’s entire chest and back, keeping it all together. One around his right thigh too where there were more slashes, and both his forearms. He looked a bit like a half-finished mummy.

Geralt didn’t say a word through it all where he sat at the edge of the bed, even Jaskier was quiet, only bringing comment to a particularly nasty looking gash every now and then. Geralt watched him intently, watched the deeply focused looked in Jaskier’s eyes, the way his tongue would peak out his mouth and then run over his lips. The way his brow would crease, running his fingers over a particularly deep looking bruise along Geralt’s side, where unknown to him one of the men had landed a clear blow with the crowbar.

Geralt found it hard to deal with what was happening. It was all so domestic, so caring, no one had ever paid this much attention to him before and it made his skin feel tingly wherever Jaskier touched him, even on a painful bit. His whole being felt lighter with Jaskier here. He didn’t want it to end, he didn’t want Jaskier to ever stop touching him, he didn’t want….he didn’t want Jaskier to ask about what happened. About his life. About any of it.

Because he _just couldn’t tell him._

It seemed he wasn’t the only one to be aware on how extra quiet he was being, for when Jaskier finished his work and stood up, his eyes caught Geralt’s nervous ones, and a sad smile came to his lips.

“You’re waiting for me to ask, aren’t you? About who you are, what happened tonight.”

Geralt only vaguely nodded, still not able to find his voice. It’s what he had been dreading, and his heart began to ache horribly. He couldn’t tell him anything, he couldn’t, and yet the only outcome to that, to all of this attention and care he’d been given, would be to tell Jaskier to leave again. Just to keep him safe.

But by any Gods that existed, Geralt didn’t want to send him away again. He didn’t really understand why, there was all these new sensations around Jaskier, feelings he’d never had to deal with before, and in his current physical state it was not a good mixture. He wasn’t sure he could handle it, understand it, do anything but just sit here in silence and hope everything would resolve itself somehow. He didn’t want Jaskier to ask. Couldn’t they just stay like this, in this limbo, where there was no questions and no danger. No responsibilities.

Jaskier sat down beside him on the bed, “Look, I understand that you’re uncomfortable with telling me, but I just patched up any number of deep cuts _obviously_ made by some serious knives, _and_ removed a bullet from your arm. I think I deserve an explanation. Don’t you?”

Geralt looked to the floor, and nodded solemnly, “Yes. You do.”

But there was nothing more. Only silence.

“You’re not going to tell me, are you?” Jaskier said quietly, his voice saddened and small.

Geralt _hated_ it.

“I can’t.”

Fuck he could feel his throat tighten at just saying those words. He felt dizzy with it all, the blood loss, the alcohol (never a good combination), the fact his shoulder was absolutely killing him but Geralt being Geralt was suppressing as much pain as possible, and still without any drugs. Jaskier’s attention, the dread in his stomach at what was going to happen next, the flutter in his chest at Jaskier’s warmth beside him, it was all getting on top of him.

And the fact that…he could have died tonight, if things had gone differently. 

And to think, screaming at Jaskier to leave would have been the last thing he’d ever said to him.

Geralt did not react when Jaskier sighed in such a defeated way, leaning his head against Geralt’s shoulder. They sat in silence again, Geralt’s brain wracked with guilt and waiting for that awful moment where he’d have to tell him to leave again, that all this meant nothing in the end.

“Alright, I’ve decided something.” Jaskier suddenly said, his voice surprisingly cheerful as he raised his head again, “I refuse to leave your home until you tell me everything. And I mean _everything_. What your job really is, your childhood, your favourite colour, everything! And obviously whatever went on tonight.” Geralt looked to him quickly, an angry glower to his eyes.

“You can’t just-“

“Now don’t look at me like that you’ve brought this on yourself by being so darned stubborn. I know it’s harsh, I know how much you really don’t want to tell me anything so call it selfish on my part if you want, but my point is I will be the one to decide whether or not you are worth whatever danger you think I’m in.”

“Jask-“

“Because that’s what this is about isn’t it? You’re worried for me, well you need to stop deciding that for me and give me a chance to make my own choice. If I don’t think you’re worth it if then fine I’ll walk out that door, but if I do think you’re worth all this ridiculous effort, which I highly suspect I will, then you’re stuck with me and you _will_ be my boyfriend if it’s the last thing I ever accomplish in my entire life. Either way you’re not getting rid of me until you spill all Geralt.”

“Jaskier for fucks sake I _can’t tell you_!”

Now he was just getting angry. What was wrong with this man he was absolutely infuriating and persistent and had no sense to him! Geralt was _not_ worth all this effort Jaskier _would_ walk out that door but it didn’t change the fact he _still couldn’t tell him!_ And he didn’t care what he said he’d _drag_ him out of here by his hair if it came to it. 

No matter how much he didn’t want to.

Despite the anger the fluttering in his chest was growing at every persistent word that came out of Jaskier’s mouth.

Geralt was being fought for.

“Why not? Why can’t you tell me?” Jaskier continued hastily, “Because whoever attacked you will come after me? Is that it?”

“ _YES_ but….but it’s not…. _fuck_!” The mixture of fluttering and dread and frustrating annoyance towards Jaskier that he just _was not getting it_ finally and suddenly brought out what he was truly feeling, “Jaskier I can’t because of all people in this world I don’t want you to _hate me_!”

And there it was. It wasn’t such a noble reason after all. Yes Jaskier would be in danger if he got involved in Geralt’s life, but all Geralt could think about was if Jaskier would run screaming from him when he learnt the things he’d done in his life. The fact that he was a murderer. A murderer of only a few nights past, those screams still in his mind as bodies burned.

He couldn’t stand the thought of Jaskier running from him.

If Geralt told him everything, his life, the truly terrible horrible illegal things he’d done…he couldn’t bare it. He already got a taste of that fear in those blue eyes before he was never going to make them look that way again. So if only to have the one and only innocent thing in his life remain that way he would not tell him. _Never_. Jaskier _couldn’t make him_!!

Gods, he could feel a hot wetness stinging his eyes. What was wrong with him??

“Geralt…” Jaskier’s voice was soft, alluring… _cruel_ to Geralt’s ears, “Geralt look at me.”

Geralt remained stubbornly staring at the floor.

“I can’t tell you Jaskier,” he said, “don’t make me. I’ve done things…things no one should ever know. Just go and forget about me.” His wolf medallion was still around his neck, laying atop all the bandages having never once been removed through all the cleaning. Geralt would never remove it. “I don’t want to see you terrified of me. Please just go.”

Geralt hated the sound of his own voice. He was pleading, pathetic. His throat was constricting, fucking emotion bubbling to the surface, too much blood loss and pain and alcohol that’s what it was, he wasn’t himself. It must be that which was causing the hot sting to his eyes, it had to be.

“ _Look_ at me Geralt!” Jaskier demanded more forcefully, and Geralt squeezed his eyes shut, letting out a heavy, pissed off sigh.

Still he didn’t move. Until he felt Jaskier’s hands, Jaskier’s gentle but determined hands, take a hold of his face and bring it to him. Geralt reluctantly opened his eyes. Jaskier’s face was slightly blurred in front of him from those fucking tears he could still feel. He didn’t want him to hate him. He didn’t want him involved.

He didn’t want…to lose him.

“Out of the two of us,” Jaskier said kindly, “the only one who looks terrified is you.”

Geralt stared at him. And stared. He stared until he could feel those tears growing and before he felt even more ashamed of himself than he already did he leant over and buried his head on Jaskier’s shoulder against his neck. Jaskier wrapped his arms around him, and for Geralt’s sake pretended he couldn’t feel the short but obvious shake of his shoulders, or the wetness that just fell onto his shirt.

“I told you once,” Geralt began, head still being cradled against Jaskier’s neck, “that you’d done something to me.”

“You did.” Jaskier softly replied.

“…what _have_ you done to me?”

He felt light and heavy at the same time. He felt happy and terrified at the same time. He felt weak and protective all at the same time. He’d never in his life felt this way before. It was so confusing, frightening, yes Jaskier was right, he was afraid. Afraid of losing the one pure thing he’d ever had.

Though it hurt a lot to move his arm he moved it anyway so he could cup Jaskier’s neck, and then without giving Jaskier a chance to see the tears that he knew had escaped he raised his head from his shoulder and kissed him. He captured his lips hard, yet it was a slow kiss, deep and filled with a passion that Geralt was only beginning to understand. Jaskier made a small mewling noise at the back of his throat before leaning in fully to the kiss, arms wrapped tightly around him, heart suddenly racing in his chest as it always did when Geralt kissed him. Geralt felt like he was pouring every inch of whatever these feelings were right through himself and into Jaskier, heart and soul and everything in between.

And it felt _right_.

When they parted, and after Geralt had stopped going back to kiss those lips a few more times, Jaskier just gave him the warmest, sappiest smile.

“You ask what I’ve done? I think the answer is that you’re in love with me. And I think that’s new for you.” He added sincerely.

Geralt parted his lips as if to speak, but nothing came out. His mind had gone blank, as it so often did around Jaskier, and with those words spoken aloud it was like an added barrier stopping all that negativity from flooding his mind.

Was he in love with him? Is that what this was? Geralt had never loved anyone, there was no love in this kind of life. He didn’t recognise it. He didn’t understand it. But was this it?

“Whatever you’ve done Geralt,” Jaskier continued when Geralt could find no words to answer his statement, “whatever’s making you so afraid that I’ll hate you…I don’t think I can hate you.” He said, the sweetest smile on his face, “Whatever has happened in your life hasn’t change who you are inside. You’re a good man Geralt.” He stroked the backs of his fingers down Geralt’s cheek, “I can see that plain as day.” He added with a whisper.

A good man. A _good_ man. Oh how Geralt found himself taking in such a shaky breath at those words. They didn’t make sense to him, they didn’t add up to who he was, he wasn’t a good man at all, but Jaskier believing he was…it made him…it made his heart _reach_ for him.

“Jaskier…”

He truly had no words, he didn’t know how to respond to any of this. But it seemed Jaskier got all he needed from his eyes, because he smiled gently at him.

“I won’t ask you anything today.” He said, “You’ve lost a lot of blood, you’re definitely drunk and you still haven’t taken any painkillers so I’m not going to lump asking for your life story on top of all that tonight. But I mean it when I say I’m not leaving until you tell me. I don’t care how long it takes, however long you need. But I’m staying with you. Besides you’re going to need my help around here until you’re healed properly.”

Exhausted, both physically and emotionally, Geralt could only silently nod in accepted defeat. He let Jaskier take care of him, let him pull back the covers so Geralt could slip gingerly inside. He then watched as Jaskier turned out the main light, slipped off his clothing and got under the covers too.

Geralt lay on his back, staring up at the dark, waiting for Jaskier to snuggle up to him as he always did. But he didn’t.

“Jaskier?” Geralt mumbled into the quiet.

“Yeah?”

Under the covers Jaskier was not touching him, not even close, not wanting to aggravate any injury. Geralt understood his hesitation, but that didn’t feel right. So he slowly, tentatively, as if reaching out for something that would break at his touch, stretched out under the covers to find his hand. His eyes hadn’t adjusted to the sudden dark room yet, so he couldn’t see the beautiful smile on Jaskier’s lips as their hands met.

“In case you were wondering,” Jaskier whispered, “I’m pretty sure I’m quite madly in love with you too.” Jaskier kissed Geralt’s bare shoulder, snuggling down further into the covers. “So when you’re ready, let me prove it to you.”

He squeezed his hand.

Geralt squeezed it back.


	7. “I lied to you.”

When Geralt blearily opened his eyes he immediately scrunched them up shut again at the blaring sunlight coming through his windows. He groaned with displeasure. Jaskier was right, he needed to invest in some curtains. Turning away from the light he then blinked slowly in realisation. The sun was never _that_ bright when he’d woken up every morning before. After his normal three hours sleep the sun was often not even up yet itself. He peered groggily at the digital clock beside him.

It was 12.45pm!

His automatic instinct was to sit upright in shock, but as he tried his entire body reminded him he had been brutally attacked last night, and with a terrible groan just slowly rested himself back down on the bed. Now waking up everything began to hurt horribly, and the stabbing pain creeping through his upper arm now made him grit his teeth as he tried to will it away. 

As he lay there willing his body into a life without pain, he realised three things. Firstly, Jaskier was not beside him. Secondly, Jaskier’s singing voice was coming from somewhere outside the bedroom door. Thirdly, there was a pillow missing from beside him. And actually, there was a fourth thing he realised. 

Or rather remembered.

The words said between them last night. Jaskier saying he loved him already, telling Geralt that it was love that he was feeling too. Geralt truly had no clue what it was he felt, but gods if it was that, if only after now three days of knowing each other had Geralt crying onto Jaskier’s shoulder, then he was racing down that road _very_ fast and he didn’t know how to drive it. It may have only been for a moment, the shortest of welled up emotion, the smallest few tears, but everything had been so overwhelming last night and Jaskier’s presence _did_ things to him!

Jaskier had said he’d refuse to leave until Geralt told him everything. Geralt was still in the mind that Jaskier had to leave regardless of what he said, but those words….those admissions…it was making him torn. Jaskier needed to leave to be safe. Jaskier needed to stay because Geralt wanted him here. He cared for Jaskier’s safety. He cared for what Jaskier wanted and Jaskier wanted to stay. To make Jaskier leave he had to tell him everything, but he wouldn’t tell him for fear of him hating him, therefore Jaskier would stay, but if he stayed he was in danger and….oh, Geralt closed his eyes again.

Really it was far too early to be trying to over think things. He’d given in last night, let Jaskier stay, let him care for him. Perhaps if he tried again this morning, thanked him for his help, gently asked him to leave rather than demanding, maybe…

Geralt carefully got out of bed, every muscle screaming at him, his shoulder just a white spot of agony. But he didn’t let it show, didn’t let any of it show. He had to let Jaskier know he was fine, convince him this danger was not worth being with him, and get him to leave. Gently. 

Don’t hurt him again.

He gingerly put on a pair of black sweatpants and slowly padded towards the bedroom door. He was hit not just with Jaskier’s louder voice as he opened the door but also the very distinct smell of more disinfectant. As he slowly made his way through his penthouse towards the kitchen where the voice was getting even louder, he noticed his missing pillow on the sofa, along with a long coat of his that he was sure had been in his wardrobe. He saw a mop and bucket by the front door as he continued through. The water was reddish in colour, and all the blood that had stained the floor and even the wall where he’d been leaning was gone. His bloodied tattered shirt was gone too, and all the cloths. Somewhere out there he could hear his washing machine going. As he finally reached his kitchen he found Jaskier singing away to himself as he appeared to be doing the washing up, perhaps from a lunch he’d just made himself.

Geralt felt like a stranger in his own home.

“Jaskier?”

Jaskier turned with the biggest smile, immediately leaving the washing up and quickly drying his hands on his own clothes.

“Geralt! You’re awake! How do you feel? Any more bandages need replacing anything bleeding again look sit sit we need to get you checked over.”

Geralt was forced down into one of his own kitchen chairs as Jaskier paraded around him looking him over like he was viewing a marble statue in a museum.

“Hmm, everything seems to be okay.” He said, gently running his hand down Geralt’s good arm. Geralt almost shivered at the touch, and not-so-subtly turned his head to stare at where those fingertips had just been. “Which is good considering how many I had to change in the night.”

Geralt blinked, brought out of his reverie, and looked up at him, “What?”

Jaskier looked like he was trying to hold back a smirk, “You don’t remember do you? Well you were half asleep.” The smirk finally came through at Geralt’s confused expression, “You kept trying to cuddle me in the night and all your bandages kept getting loose. I tried to push you away and get you to lay on your back again but you just kept clinging to me. I had to change them because they kept bleeding. In the end I slept on the sofa, it was the only way to stop you from moving.”

Geralt looked so mortified Jaskier let out a bark of a laugh, before leaning down and pressing those laughing lips onto Geralt’s, kissing him softly, “There is obviously the softest, sweetest man inside you desperately trying to get out.” He grinned, before kissing him again. “Now how’s that bullet wound feeling?” he asked as he stood up straight.

Geralt was still looking mortified, and desperately trying to pretend he wasn’t _blushing_ , because the White Wolf, the Butcher of Blaviken, did not _blush_! He genuinely did not remember doing any of that in the night at all! He did not _cuddle_! And the image of his half delirious self clutching onto Jaskier and refusing to let go…oh gods he was so embarrassed.

Eurgh, and his head throbbed from the after effects of the vodka.

“’s fine.” Geralt mumbled, trying very hard not to look like he just wanted bury himself in the nearest hole and disappear.

“Hmm.” Jaskier said, doing a very good impression of Geralt, before looking at him in the eyes, “Really?”

“Really.”

“ _Really_?”

“Really!”

Jaskier looked at his face very closely, leaning down again, and Geralt _dammit_ could feel himself blushing again!

“Then why is your forehead sweating already? Right that settles it. I’m going out to get the strongest painkillers I can find, and I do need to pop home and get some clothes and stuff for living here. Oh and my guitar. I’ve already phoned my agent saying I’m going to be awol for a little while while I deal with a personal matter. She shouted at me. I told her I was in love and she should know better than to hindrance a muse.”

There was that L word again. How did Jaskier say it so casually? Geralt could barely even think it.

“Jaskier.” Geralt started, and then sighed, “Look, I’m very grateful for your help last night, but it still comes down to the fact that you can’t stay.”

“I can, I am, and I will. Now I’ll be back in a few hours.” He went to head out towards the front door, until Geralt said loudly behind him;

“I’ll lock you out!”

Jaskier stopped, and turned on the spot to fix him with a rather intense stare, “You do that and I will shout and sing down that intercom for as long as it takes to drive you insane so you come storming down to shut me up.”

Geralt thought about that threat for a moment, “You would as well, wouldn’t you?”

“Mm hm, so promise?”

Geralt sighed again, “Fine.” He said through gritted teeth, “I promise I’ll let you back up.”

Jaskier gave him one of those annoying bright smiles, “Good.” He then ran back to kiss him quickly again, before grinning against his lips, “You love me.”

Geralt just growled at him.

* * *

Geralt had genuinely considered just not answering when the intercom rang upon Jaskier’s return. It would solve all his problems. Jaskier was out, he wouldn’t be able to get back in again, end of issue. He didn’t doubt the man would indeed sing endlessly down that intercom until Geralt gave in, but what was the bet on which of them would give in first?

But, as he’d been sitting there alone in his penthouse that had always been too big for him but now seem like an endless hole of silence without Jaskier in it, he’d only let the intercom ring twice before he answered, and Jaskier headed up into the lift.

Aside from getting a small bite to eat Geralt hadn’t really moved from that chair. The same questions ran through his mind, trying to think of new ways of getting Jaskier to leave, but there was a small part of him that was saying to himself…just tell him everything. If he runs off screaming well it was just another person added to the list that had run off screaming from him. But if he _stayed_ , if by some miracle he didn’t care about all that and he _stayed_ …

Well even if he did stay, Geralt would just be constantly worried that something would happen to him. He couldn’t be seen with him out in public, he couldn’t risk the wrong people making the right connection and coming after the famous Jaskier just to get to Geralt. Jaskier had told him not to make that decision for him but it was hard not to, hard to let in someone he cared about if it put them in real danger. He really was being torn from so many angles, and he was feeling exhausted from it. He wasn’t used to all this mental bombardment.

“Honey I’m home!” came Jaskier’s singing little tune, and just Geralt turned slowly to stare at him. Jaskier grinned, “Always wanted to say that.”

He was carrying so many bags he was half buried under them all. His guitar was slung over his back, he had a large wheeled suitcase behind him and was carrying a large amount of grocery bags. He dumped the whole lot of them on the floor, before digging around in one and bringing out a box of co-codamol and codeine and chucking it on the table in front of Geralt.

“There, and there’s more in the bag. The strongest painkillers I could get over the counter without a prescription. I had to go to eight different pharmacies to get those, you know they won’t let you buy more than one box at a time in case you try to kill yourself with them?”

Geralt just stared at him with an alarmed scowl, “How many do you think I’m going to need?!”

“You’ve been _shot_ I don’t know! Look sit there and take those and I’ll get busy.”

Geralt could do nothing but watch as this bright little lark started to build a nest in his home. Jaskier had stocked up on food, as Geralt’s kitchen seemed to be permanently either empty or filled with items way out date. He started to unpack the clothes and items he’d brought into the bedroom and bathroom, still holding out high hopes for that shared shower one day as everything went into Geralt’s en-suite bathroom. He placed his guitar on the side table next to the sofa along with a laptop and stack of papers.

“I prefer writing out my lyrics.” He explained at Geralt’s look.

“Why did you sleep on the sofa?” Geralt then asked as Jaskier picked up the long coat he’d used to sleep under, “I have five bedrooms here.”

Jaskier just shrugged, “Well I didn’t want to go wandering around in the middle of the night, and this was closer in case you needed me. I didn’t want to leave you alone.”

Geralt really needed to find out a way of stopping himself blushing.

“Oh. Well…thank you.” He said quietly.

Jaskier just looked at him with the sweetest face, before flopping down on the sofa and patting the seat next to him.

“Come on, sit down, you shouldn’t be moving around too much.”

Geralt sat down, but so tensely he looked like a cat ready to jump at the slightest noise. He didn’t know why he was so tense. Well, he did. He was still dreading Jaskier asking again about his life, still dreading him running away, still dreading just everything that was the outcome of Jaskier in his life. Jaskier however was not tense at all, and just tucked one leg under the other and turned so he was facing him.

“So, Geralt…what’s your favourite colour?” Geralt glanced to him. Not the question he’d been expecting. “I did say last night remember? I want to know everything about you. What happened, who you are, and your favourite colour. So I thought I’d better start with the easier question.”

“I don’t…” Geralt paused. Jaskier was so strange. What did it matter? “I’ve never thought about having a favourite colour.”

“Oh come on everyone has a favourite colour. Think!”

Geralt looked away, part of him not believing he was giving this serious thought, “Yellow.” He finally said.

“ _Yellow_? Huh…somehow not what I was expecting.”

“…buttercups are yellow.” Geralt then mumbled softly, not realising he’d said that out loud until it was too late, and his eyes widened and that damn blush was back _again_!

“Geralt…” Jaskier began carefully, a grin slowly forming as he leant closer towards him, “are you saying _I’m_ your favourite thing? Because if you are that is so romantic I _may_ just jump you.” Despite the blush Geralt couldn’t help the very small huff of a laugh, before Jaskier added, “But I can’t.”

Geralt looked to him fondly, “Why not?”

“Because I don’t want to hurt you.”

Geralt rolled his eyes, “Jaskier I’m not made of glass I can have sex.”

“No you can’t.”

“Yes I can.”

“No, you can’t.”

“Jaskier I can!”

“Well you’re not with me! Not until I stop seeing you wincing every time you move. Besides if you start bleeding just from trying to cuddle me imagine what state you’d be in if we had sex? As much as I love the whole _save me I’m in danger_ thing call me crazy but seeing you slowly bleed to death while fucking me is hardly a turn on.”

“Don’t be so dramatic I’m fine.” Geralt continued to argue, although getting rather flustered at being reminded about the cuddling and the fact he was weak right now, two things he was _not_ known for.

“No you’re a moron who doesn’t understand when he’s hurt and someone is trying to look after him. So no sex for you. Bad Geralt.”

Only Jaskier could see it but Geralt actually pouted. It made Jaskier chuckle so heart-warmingly fondly, before he carefully leant round Geralt’s injured arm and kissed him again. It was a soft, sweet kiss, cupping Geralt’s neck, about the only part of him that wasn’t injured in some way. As they parted, as Geralt opened his eyes from where they had slid closed so easily at the feel of Jaskier’s warm lips, Jaskier was running his thumb gently over Geralt’s jawline.

“That bruise is coming out.” He said quietly, before pressing the gentlest of kisses to it, and then getting up off the sofa. “But we will file that little favourite colour line under _adorable things Geralt has said_ and review it at a later date.” He said with a wink, and Geralt just gave up caring about his facial colour after that as he could feel the heat in his cheeks.

Although he did mumble one thing as Jaskier walked away with a bounce in his step.

“’m not adorable.”

“Said the adorable man with the adorable pout.” He heard Jaskier exclaim behind him as he disappeared into the kitchen, “Coffee?”

_“I’m not pouting!”_

* * *

“So…. Julian, is it?”

The subject was finally brought up over dinner as they sat opposite each other at the kitchen bar. 

Jaskier smiled sheepishly, “Yeah. But I _really_ do prefer you calling me Jaskier, if that’s alright with you. I like that you’re the only ones that does.” He added with a small, flirtatious smile.

“Me, and your grandmother.” Geralt pointed out, and Jaskier just clucked his tongue.

“Well _yeah_ but it doesn’t sound quite as romantic if you bring my grandmother into it now does it?”

A quirk of a smile pulled at Geralt’s lips, “It’s alright. I don’t think I could call you Julian now anyway, I’m too used to Jaskier.”

Geralt was feeling a tug in his chest, making him want to ask questions about Jaskier. Yes Jaskier had gone on and on about all things including himself since they met, but it showed just how little Geralt had really been listening when he hadn’t even worked out Jaskier was famous despite all the hints along the way. Jaskier had just been the white background noise blocking out the bad things in his life.

Now he wanted to hear beyond it.

“Would you tell me about yourself?” he found himself asking.

“Hm? But I’ve told you a lot about myself. It’s _you_ that’s the mystery.”

“I know but…I promise I’ll listen this time.” He said, rather sheepishly himself, hoping Jaskier would get the hint that he hadn’t really been listening before, and hoping he wouldn’t be too angry about it.

Jaskier paused, watching him, before letting out a loud melodramatic sigh, “I knew you were never listening to me you rascal.” There wasn’t really any anger there, if anything there was a spark of joy in his eyes that Geralt, for the first time, was taking a personal interest in him and what he had to say. “Go on then, ask a question.”

Geralt hadn’t prepared questions, he just assumed Jaskier would start rambling on, and in moments panic just asked the same question Jaskier had asked him.

“Um, what’s your favourite… _colour_?”

“Yellow.” Jaskier replied immediately, and then grinned, “Like your eyes.”

Geralt just blinked at him, something warm climbing inside his chest.

Jaskier winked at him, “Two can play at that game.”

* * *

Jaskier talked about himself all evening, and Geralt listened to every word. About coming over from Poland as a young child, about his parents both being psychologists and the highest in their individual fields of family psychology and childhood trauma (which explained for Geralt the money involved in giving Jaskier his classic education). His mother was English, and had met his Polish father in a seminar over there. Jaskier joked that apparently he got his love of life and people from his mother, who had fallen for his father so quickly that she’d decided to stay there with him to have their family, until their job prospects grew and it became financially more viable to move back to the UK.

Geralt would have to agree with that statement, looking around his home finding Jaskier’s things now everywhere after only three days of knowing each other.

Jaskier told him that his parents wanted him to follow in their footsteps, but he had never had any interest in it. He hadn’t known what he’d wanted to do with his life, but travel had always been an interest, so had studied languages at university. Geralt now found out it wasn’t just Polish and English he was fluent in but also Russian and French, with a passing knowledge of Spanish and traditional Chinese. 

Geralt had been about to ask why on earth Jaskier hadn’t gone travelling the world like he wanted with all of that under his belt, until Jaskier began to say how he fell in love with the guitar a friend had let him borrow. His singing began to get more recognition, and by the time he’d finished university the entire place knew him more for his performances than his language ability. And he liked it that way. He’d begun playing in small venues or busking in populated areas, coming into London to play wherever he could, and it had been in that very pub where they’d met that a talent scout happened to be sitting drinking with his friends when he heard him play in the corner. He’d been snapped up there and then and the rest was history, or rather the future.

“One day, when I’m really _super_ famous, I’m still going to get to travel the world when I do world tours. And I’m still going to go into little backwater places and sing for people no matter what my agent says. Songs can give people happiness, tell stories of woe or love, can bring people together, and I want to spread all the stories in all the places. It’s what I love to do.”

Geralt’s expression was unreadable as he listened, but his heart was beating strangely slow, as though he was in pure comfort and relaxation. Jaskier brought all those things with him, happiness, love, even woe in Geralt’s case. He was the personification of his own songs, and listening to him speak so passionately about what he loved made Geralt feel…at peace.

He’d never felt at peace before.

Jaskier didn’t ask anything more about Geralt that day, just fussed over him, helping him change any more bandages and ensuring he kept up with his painkillers. Geralt had to admit, he did feel better taking them. Or maybe it was Jaskier’s fussing that made him feel better. Maybe he was drowning in it. Maybe every time Jaskier touched him no matter how innocently his skin burned and his heart did little flips in his chest. Maybe he really was falling for him.

Maybe as he watched Jaskier sleep next to him, hand curled up by his face, the other gently pressed against Geralt’s arm…maybe he’d already dived head first off that cliff.

* * *

The next few days passed as similarly as the first. Geralt had always healed quickly, and most of the not so serious cuts were healing nicely already. The others had started too with no signs of infection so far, and Jaskier had really done an excellent job on the stitches as they hadn’t needed redoing at all. Jaskier took good care of that wound, cleaning it often and gently around the stitches, and it too was healing well.

As Geralt was still torn between what to do, it meant Jaskier was still here and therefore very curious about what was in the rest of this penthouse. At Jaskier’s request Geralt showed him around. When he showed him the private cinema Jaskier let out what could only be described as a squeal, and made Geralt promise that later on they were going to curl up together under a blanket and watch something, anything, just to say they had used it. Geralt had never used it, he didn’t watch television or films, his spare time was taken up in the private gym or working on whatever Yennefer needed him to do. Or even just sitting in silence, letting time tick by him.

It may have been silent, but it wasn’t peaceful. Geralt still felt more at peace with Jaskier chattering away beside him.

He showed him the gym and the bowling alley, another thing that got a squeal from Jaskier, then took him up to the roof where the pool was. Jaskier had no idea that Geralt owned his own pool, and this was by far the most exciting thing. It was a cloudy day today, but again Jaskier made him promise that when the sun was next out they’d be up here, Geralt lying on a lounger soaking up some sun in his wounds, and Jaskier…well he was already planning to be floating around on a li-lo with nothing but sunglasses over his eyes and a cocktail in his hands.

The image was…compelling, Geralt had to admit.

Being in this strange situation had Jaskier very inspired for his music, so Geralt had watched as Jaskier played his guitar out by the large front windows, singing and then stopping, adjusting, singing again, playing again, on and off as he worked. His voice was so melodic, so genuinely good, no training involved just his own voice, natural and beautiful, and Geralt couldn’t look away where he sat on the sofa.

 _Tell him, he deserves to know,_ his mind was saying.

 _Do that, and he’ll leave,_ another part was arguing.

 _He could die being with you,_ the first part insisted.

_….perhaps I’ll die without him?_

Geralt grimaced at himself. Where were these sappy thoughts coming from?

* * *

With the nights that had passed Jaskier had now given up in trying to get the half asleep Geralt to stop cuddling him in the night. But now the cuts were healing it wasn’t so bad anymore anyway. He had woken up on all mornings with Geralt cocooning him with his one good arm, face pressed into his hair, completely at ease. With Jaskier beside him Geralt actually slept a full nights worth of sleep every time. The three hours a night were gone, and Geralt had never felt more awake and alert and content in his whole life. Jaskier had watched Geralt simply sleep several times now, seen how his usually reserved expression relaxed entirely. There were no barriers in sleep, no guard, just a relaxed sleeping face framed by strands of silvery-white hair, which to Jaskier looked so breathtakingly beautiful he’d stared at him for nearly a full two hours one night. Whatever dark secrets his daytime self kept hidden were washed away in sleep. Geralt looked innocent, and Jaskier was fascinated by the difference.

It inspired even more lyrics.

On the 4th day Geralt could easily have forgotten he was ever employed by Yennefer. Could easily have forgotten the life he led, the violence, the death, the intimidation he was used to giving to everyone. Now the only thing he gave was small secret smiles, soft adoring eyes, and plenty of embarrassed blushes when he realised he was doing those exact things. They’d fallen into the happy limbo Geralt had wanted, where it was just the two of them, here alone, spending time together and doing all the domestic stupid things that normal people did. 

They’d had their evening in the private cinema. Jaskier created a massive tub of popcorn while they sat in the huge plushie red seats at the front, complete with foot stools, and cuddled together quite contently. Geralt had winced as he put his injured arm up around the back of Jaskier’s shoulders, but it was more comfortable once it was raised. Jaskier was very much into the film, eating most of the popcorn himself, whereas Geralt spent most of the time watching Jaskier. The way his eyes would light up, the way he’d laugh, the way he’d try feebly to push Geralt away when he began kissing up his neck. The way he’d let out that breathless little moan as Geralt’s hand made its way down his body, undoing the zip on Jaskier’s jeans, dipping his hand down underneath to cup at his cock, all the while still kissing his neck and his jaw. Jaskier’s eyes had fluttered closed, the film forgotten, turning his head to let those kisses fall on his lips.

Jaskier may have banned sex until he was satisfied Geralt wasn’t going to hurt himself, but that didn’t mean Geralt couldn’t get him off in other ways. 

Jaskier had found his body sinking down blissfully into the plushie seats as Geralt had stroked him, his cock standing hard and needing, Geralt’s one good arm doing all the work as Jaskier had clutched onto him and moaned so eagerly into the kiss. Geralt had used long, slow strokes, gripping tightly at the base before moving up, his thumb teasing the slit. His tongue had lapped against Jaskier’s as his lark began pumping his own hips upwards into Geralt’s hands, before he shuddered and moaned deeply as he’d come all over himself, Geralt squeezing every last drop out of him.

It hadn’t taken long for Jaskier to recover, for he was then impatient to get on his knees between Geralt’s legs. He didn’t know why he didn’t think of this before, this wouldn’t hurt Geralt’s injuries. He’d taken Geralt’s large cock into his mouth so eagerly, licking up from base to tip, wetting his lips as he’d run them along its length, taking him in, teasing the tip, licking around the head. All the while Geralt had his hand in Jaskier’s hair, gently edging him on, eyelids falling closed as his head fell back against the back of the chair, his bad arm still up high along the back of Jaskier’s chair beside him. Geralt had been so calm, so relaxed, so wanting to have had Jaskier for days now that it didn’t take long for him to be coming into that hot mouth. At least, didn’t take long in his terms, which was still long in Jaskier’s terms. His jaw had ached, his lips were red and swollen again and he’d looked thoroughly and delightfully fucked. Especially if his grin was anything to go by. They’d spent ages afterwards, long after the film was finished, just sitting cuddled in each other’s arms, kissing lazily.

Geralt had found his heaven.

* * *

In all these days that had passed Jaskier only asked once each day if Geralt would tell him anything. Every day Geralt’s reply had been no, and every day he felt more and more guilty.

On the 5th day he had had enough. Not of Jaskier, but of his own indecision. Yennefer had phoned him this morning to congratulate him that his new security measures had worked a wonder, triggering off an intrusion that would probably not have been caught before and capturing a man attempting to gain entry to her home again. The man had been tortured to giving up information of who he worked for, and of no surprise it was Cahir again. The first intruder that had caused all this extra security in the first place Yennefer had sent back with a bullet wound to the ear as warning. Now she was done with warnings. 

She had sent the body back to the Nilfgaard’s estate in a black bag with a note pinned to it that read ‘ _Now they start dying’_.

It was a big wake up call for Geralt, that this limbo was false, that the world existed outside of this penthouse and it wasn’t just the two of them. He had to get it in his head that Jaskier was in _serious danger_ , and that really when it came down to it, there was only one option.

He had to tell him. Everything. If only to scare him away. 

Geralt would be hurt, oh gods he knew he would he could feel it already, imagining those blue eyes filled with fear at the sight of him, of running, of feeling sick that he’d let Geralt touch him, kiss him, fuck him. He didn’t even care if Jaskier went straight to the police. Let him turn him in, let him have them take him away. Geralt had to stop thinking so selfishly. He couldn’t just keep Jaskier in this little bubble, for one day he was going to find out the truth and it would all burst, and not with a nice little pop, but in an explosion of sharp, shattering shards.

But none of that mattered, so long as Jaskier was safe. 

“I lied to you.” Geralt found himself saying, feeling like he’d lost everything already.

“About what?” Jaskier asked, so innocently.

 _So_ innocently.

They were sitting opposite each other at a small dining table, a modern open fireplace to the side, not lit as it was a warm summer evening. Geralt had been helping Jaskier with his lyrics, bits of paper all over the table, so long as helping meant _hmming_ every now and then. Jaskier had seemed to have learnt which _hmm’s_ were good ones and bad, and had determined his song construction on them alone. 

“About having a licence for that gun.”

Jaskier looked up from where he’d been scribbling, stopping in his humming of the tune he was working on. There was a pause between the two of them, a silent acknowledgement that after five days this was it, this was the moment. Jaskier put his pen down.

“….I knew it.” He sat forward, rather too excitedly, and Geralt immediately sighed, already annoyed.

“Look, I know you have this thing about danger but this is serious.”

“I’m serious, I’m totally serious.” Jaskier tried to looked serious, taking the excited expression of his face and replacing it with a sour one instead. But it looked so forced it just didn’t work, and despite everything it made Geralt’s lips twitch in a smile.

“When we met I was….upset, over a break up. The break up was with the person I still guard. Her name is…Yennefer Venderberg.”

He paused, wondering if Jaskier would recognise the name. After all crime families were hardly unknown to the police or even the public in some cases, it’s just they had very good ways of covering everything up. And very good lawyers. But Jaskier didn’t even blink. He had no idea. He really was innocent.

“ _Ohhh_ ,” Jaskier said in a tone of realisation, “I did wonder if you were…never mind, so who’s this Yennefer?”

“She’s…” Well, once he started this would be it, “…the head of one of the most prominent crime families in England. Your joked guess before wasn’t wrong. She is a mob boss, as such.”

Jaskier sucked in the tiniest of breaths, and with the look of utter seriousness on Geralt’s face he was finding it _really_ hard not to grin in excitement.

“Wow. So err…” he swallowed hard, “…you must have…seen some things.”

“I’ve _done_ those things, Jaskier. You say I’m a good man, I’m not.”

“I don’t believe that. Not for a second. But go on.”

Geralt practically scowled at him. His inappropriate enthusiasm no matter how sweetly conveyed was not going to change anything. There was excitement for a bit of danger, then there was sitting across the table from a murderer.

“Tell me everything Geralt. Everything. It is the only way for you to be sure that everything is off your chest and then you’ll know I’ll love you for who I see in front of me.”

“This isn’t something out of a story book Jaskier!” Geralt glowered at him, “People like me don’t get happy endings, and people like you who get involved end up either dead or tortured and _then_ dead!”

He was getting angry now. Jaskier just didn’t understand, all he cared about was love and the ridiculous notion that he’d still feel the same way about Geralt when he knew all his sordid details. This wasn’t about proving Jaskier still loved him, this was about scaring him away. Couldn’t Jaskier see how hard this was for Geralt to do?!

“Don’t get angry with me for not knowing what you’re talking about.” Jaskier snapped back. He had such a gentle way about him but he could be just as vicious when required, “You’ve only told me you’re the bodyguard for this crime woman. Tell me _everything_. Everything you’ve done, all these things you think I’ll hate you for. Tell me, then I will decide remember? _Not_ you.”

Geralt grit his teeth, “ _Fine_.”

And so he told. If only to prove him wrong.

He told him about the work he did, the orders he’s followed, extortion, theft, torturing people, including that restaurant owner who had given them that table for free. He told him of the people he’d hurt, of the other night, of why they were after him. The fact he was a target, a top person in the underworld who happened to prefer working for another, of why Jaskier would be in terrible danger with him, could be used as a target himself, to hurt Geralt. He told him of the black market deals he had with Yennefers front company, that he not only protected her when needed but helped her in every aspect of her needs. It’s how they had come to be together, she was angry and stressed and somehow had ended up tumbled in bed together, and it had gone on from there. But he was diverging from the point. The point was in all these things he had no regrets. He enjoyed hurting these people, they were shitheads who deserved anything that was coming to them, just like he himself deserved everything they gave back.

But throughout all of this he’d been holding back the one thing, the one thing that would scare Jaskier away for sure. The fact he’d killed so many people. _So_ many. But he couldn’t bring himself to mention it, and he was just making himself angrier because of it. His voice was raising as he spoke, but he couldn’t look Jaskier in the eyes, he couldn’t make himself watch that adoration drain away as Jaskier saw in front of him the true person he’d been with all this time. He couldn’t bare to watch the moment, if it hadn’t happened already, of when Jaskier was afraid of him.

But it had to come.

Geralt took a few deep breaths, having never spoken so much in one setting, and let the anger deplete. He needed to be of a calm mind.

“You asked when you first saw my gun if I had a license to kill. You were asking if I had killed anyone.” He didn’t wait for a response. He didn’t look at his face. He kept his stare firmly on the table top. “I have.”

He said it so quietly, and it felt like a 1000 tonne weight had just dropped through his body, ripping a hole violently through his heart.

“I’ve killed a lot of people, Jaskier. In Yennefer’s name. In others before her. Some simply because they were in my way.” He added darkly, his mind flickering to the men he’d once stupidly called a family as a young boy battled his way out to what he thought was freedom, only to have buried himself further into the underworld. “Only a week ago, after I’d already met you, I left a building to burn with people inside at Yennefer’s orders.” He was sure their screams had been part of a nightmare a few nights ago, for he remembered waking in the middle of the night to Jaskier’s warmth beside him, and knowing he didn’t deserve him. “Everything I do is illegal. Everything I do should have me in jail a million times over.” He still did not look at him, still kept his eyes to the table, to the side, anywhere but at the one person he did not want to see the anger, hatred, and fear in.

But Jaskier was kind. Perhaps, if he asked, he would just walk away right now. Without saying a word. So Geralt could remember the past five days without being them being tarnished by terrified words.

“Please, Jaskier…please go. I know I don’t deserve it, but let me remember you for what we had before you knew who I really was. Please.”

His throat was constricting again, he blinked back another building wetness to his eyes, and he sat there, silently.

There was a long, drawn out pause, so tense and terrifying Geralt felt like he was spinning down into an abyss. And then, quietly, and with no humour in his voice at all, Jaskier asked a question.

“These people that you’ve killed. Do you remember them?”

Geralt nodded solemnly, “Every single one of them. What they were wearing, where they were, what they doing before I…their faces, their jewellery, tattoos, everything.”

“You say you don’t regret the people you’ve hurt,” Jaskier continued, cautiously and quietly, “But do you regret any of the ones you killed?”

“Most of them probably deserved it.” Geralt replied honestly, finding a knot in the wood of the table and keeping his eyes fixed there, “The people I’ve killed were bad, _very_ bad people, but…” a flash of a house, a family, of the wolf medallion so heavy against his chest, “there are three I do regret.” He said so quietly.

“Who were they?” Jaskier asked. There was no judgement in his voice. It was just a question.

“The first three I ever killed.” Geralt swallowed back the emotion rising in his throat, his heart somehow racing and horribly slow at the same time, “I was only twelve.”

Geralt heard the quiet intake of breath from Jaskier, but still did not look at him, and suddenly everything that happened to him as a child came pouring out of him. There was no question from Jaskier to tell it, there was no need, Geralt had given Jaskier enough to be terrified of him. But something about admitting his age, something about telling the first person he’d ever cared for about the first lives he’d ever taken, it was like a dam had been broken.

“I was raised by a street gang. Abandoned. They taught me everything I know. I dealt with selling drugs and stealing mostly, and if I ever got anything wrong they would…beat me. A lot. One day I was told to kill a family who owed them money. I didn’t…” Geralt grit his teeth, not in anger, but in such a growing pain at the memory it stalled his voice, “I didn’t understand that it was wrong. That everything I had ever done in my entire young little life was wrong. The boss, Blaviken, told me I could have the wolf medallion if I did the job for him.” The medallion hung on the outside of his shirt, resting on his sternum. “I remember I was so excited. It meant I’d be one of them. He’d already begun calling me his white wolf, I felt so _proud_. It’s all I’d wanted was to find a place, a home…and I had no clue that it was _not_ a home.” He lowered his head at the memory, his voice so quiet it was barely audible, “So I did it. A husband and wife and their son, but when I got to the daughter….”

Suddenly there were tears on his cheeks, dripping from his eyes like dew drops down a window. He didn’t know where they’d suddenly come from, but he made no attempt to stop them, “There was a cat on the bed, homework on the table… she was so… harmless. She was everything that I wanted, not the gang. Her. Her life. And I couldn’t bring myself to kill her. I couldn’t destroy someone who had the innocence I wish I had.” He licked his lips, catching a salty tear that had dripped over his lips. “When Blaviken found out he tried to…”

His eyes flickered upward, but not long enough to see Jaskier’s face, just enough to wonder if he was going to admit out loud what had nearly happened. He sighed, sounding completely defeated. “He tried to rape me. But before he had the chance I cut off his balls and practically disembowelled him.” There was venom to his voice there, along with a sound of pride, “I picked up the medallion and tried to leave, but the others wouldn’t let me. They tried to kill me for killing him. They left me no choice. One by one I took them all down. Killed them all to escape.” He closed his eyes slowly, the last couple of tears being set loose as he opened them again, sill staring down, “But I never really escaped in the end.”

There. That was it. There was nothing else. Jaskier wanted him to tell him everything? To get everything off his chest? There it all was, laid out flat for Jaskier to see. Geralt felt naked now, raw, and so terrified it was like he was back in his corner about to have bones broken and body beaten for spilling that package of cocaine.

“So please Jaskier…don’t say anything.” He continued on, his heart desperately wanting just one last hint of the peace Jaskier brought him, “Please let me remember you smiling. Please get your things and go. We should never have happened. I’m sorry. I’m so… _sorry_.”

His voice was breaking at the end. He couldn’t do it anymore. He couldn’t beg anymore, he couldn’t speak or think or care. He just wanted one last act of kindness he didn’t deserve, and for Jaskier to leave him alone to his despair. He heard Jaskier move in his chair, waiting with a crushed heart to hear the scarp of the chair legs against the floor as he left…but the only thing that moved was his arms, that now rested out on the table in front of him, leaning on his forearms.

“What’s it like,” Jaskier began, “cutting someone’s balls off?”

Geralt blinked. He very slowly raised his head, daring himself to look at him, his golden eyes finally coming to lock with the blue ones that…didn’t look afraid. Geralt couldn’t stop staring at him, having trouble processing exactly what had just happened. Or rather wasn’t happening.

“You…that’s your takeaway from everything I just told you? _That’s_ the first thing you ask?”

“Well, it’s kind of…I mean,” Jaskier leant further forward on his arms, dropping his voice to a whisper even though it was only the two of them there, “ _really_ ...what’s it like?”

Geralt just blinked at him again, still staring, and in his state of utter shock just simply answered his question.

“Messy. Very messy.”

“Mmm, I imagine it would be.” Jaskier said, leaning back against his chair and crossing his arms, “Still, sounds like the bastard deserved it. I mean who takes a frightened child off the streets and makes him to do all that? Fuck no wonder you’re such a head case, anyone would be going through all that let alone going through it at _twelve_.”

Geralt was astounded. Shocked beyond all reason. How…why…

“Jaskier…” He didn’t even know what he wanted to ask. What was wrong with you? Are you insane? Why aren’t you running?

Jaskier however, simply smiled. A very intelligent, knowing, and sympathetic smile.

“These last few days you’ve been worried that I’d be frightened of you if I found out who you are. So I ask you, do I look frightened?”

Geralt did look at him. All over his face. After avoiding that face for so long he could now no longer look away. He slowly shook his head, “No,” he said, “and frankly that’s frightening in itself.”

Jaskier just smiled softly again and shook his head in disagreement, “No it’s not. You’ve had a cruel life Geralt. That doesn’t make you a cruel person. Every one you’ve told me you’ve hurt or killed has either been in self-defence or on the orders of another. And you say you remember every one of them? Their faces and everything else?” He shook his head again, ensuring their eyes were locked, “No evil person remembers his victims in that detail with tears in his eyes. Geralt you have been sitting here with the most heart-breaking look on your face while you’ve been telling me all this. Not once, _not once_ , in anything that you have just told me has frightened me. If you’d been telling me with _glee_ or…or _boasting_ about it, then yeah, I probably would be getting the hell out of here right about now. But you know what? Let me ask you one more thing, because I think I know what your answers going to be.” He leant forward again, pointing to the wolf head at Geralt’s chest, “Why do you keep wearing that medallion? Surely it just reminds you that awful time?”

“Exactly.” Geralt said, his mind still trying to process what Jaskier was saying, that he wasn’t scared, wasn’t running, and what all that meant, “It’s a reminder of where I came from, of how cruel the world can be to me and how cruel I am to it. Every day I see this, I see those three I killed. I see their daughter. And I will for the rest of my life.”

Jaskier was looking at him so softly, so unbearably gently, and the kindest smile came to his lips knowing that that was exactly what he was expecting Geralt to say, “Now does that sound like the ravings of a cruel, evil man to you?”

Geralt sat there, feeling so small. So very small. He looked away, mind racing, reeling, and through all the pain and suffering he was going through in his mind he couldn’t…he couldn’t deny those words. He didn’t sound like an evil man, he sounded…like a scared one. One filled with regret and guilt and pain. A trapped man. One who if given the opportunity would click his fingers and his entire life would be something completely different.

“Honestly, hearing all this…it’s pretty intense stuff.” Jaskier continued, Geralt still too overwhelmed at the feelings and _truth_ rushing through himself, “But it honestly hasn’t changed how I feel about you. I still say you’re a good man Geralt, a good man trapped in a terrible world.”

No…no he…he had to make Jaskier see…no matter how his words were soothing over the issue Geralt _had_ to make him see.

“Jaskier I have _killed_ people.” He emphasised, looking back to him, eyes pleading, “Will _continue_ to kill people if needed.”

“I know, I heard you.”

“Well how the _fuck_ can that _not_ affect how you feel about me?!”

Jaskier just looked to him, pressing his lips together and shrugging slightly, “Geralt I can’t tell you why. Maybe I already love you too much.” He offered with a waning grin, resting his forearms back on the table, “All I know is when I look at you…I’m not afraid.” He was being so serious, so truthful, and it was tearing Geralt apart in a way he didn’t know you could be torn, “What I do see when I look at you is a man trapped in a world he’s been trying to run from since he was a child. I see a man wanting freedom, I see an honest man, because the fact you’ve just told me all that is _incredible_ and I can’t imagine what you’re feeling right now.” Neither could Geralt, and he was the one feeling it. “But for all of that, for everything… I know now I really do love you, and I love you even more for telling me. I mean that.”

Geralt stared at him, his breathing coming in small erratic breaths, not believing, not understanding, not…not letting the fear take him anymore. Oh it was there, he still felt small and overwhelmed, but Jaskier was here too. He wasn’t running. He was saying…he loved him. After hearing all of the awful, soul destroying crimes he’s committed he was still here, looking at him from across a table with the most sincere expression.

Carefully, slowly, wondering if this was all a dream that he was about to awaken from, Geralt reached out his hand to Jaskier’s on the table, resting it gently on top of his.

“You’re not…going to run away from me?” he asked, so quietly and still half petrified, noticing that Jaskier didn’t flinch away at the touch at all, and in fact watched as he turned over his palm so he could hold his hand.

“Never.” Jaskier replied so fondly.

Geralt looked to his eyes, those wonderful sincere eyes that were showing the truth of his words, “You’ll still be in danger with me." he said, one last attempt, "A target. Any of those people could hurt you. Fuck, Yennefer might, if she finds out I told you about her.”

He hadn’t thought of that. He’d been so caught up in telling Jaskier everything he didn’t realise he’d just divulged secrets of the crime world to a famous singer!

“Well, it’s a good thing I’ll have the best bodyguard in the business at my side then, isn’t it?” Jaskier said with a wholesome grin, “And anyway like I said, it’s _my_ risk to take, _my_ choice. It’s my decision as to whether or not you are worth any danger, you don’t get to decide that for me.” He then placed his other hand on top of Geralt’s, bringing Geralt’s hand to his lips, and with the sweetest kiss to his knuckles said;

“And believe me Geralt…you are _so_ worth it.”

Something inside Geralt broke at those words. Shattered into tiny pieces. It wasn’t his heart; how could it be? Never had it felt so engorged with life. No, it was every barrier he’d ever put up. Every dark corner that now shone with Jaskier’s brightness, every wall he’d built that was knocked down in one full crashing bulldozer of a collision. It was so hard it hit him physically, and in the most uncharacteristic way he suddenly started heaving with breaths like he was having a panic attack, and he took his hand back away from Jaskier’s so he could hold his head in his hands, leaning his elbows on the table as he tried to calm the rushing swell of emotion that was riding through his body like a tidal wave.

To Jaskier it _did_ seem like he was having a panic attack, and in a panic of his own he suddenly shot up from his seat and ran round to him, “Geralt?! Geralt what’s happening are you okay!?”

Geralt suddenly turned in his chair and grabbed Jaskier beside him, holding him there, face buried into his stomach as he wrapped his arms around him and held him so, _so_ tightly. Jaskier realised, with both relief and a swell of affection, that it was not a panic attack Geralt was having. He just couldn’t process that Jaskier loved him. That he loved him for who he was. That Jaskier _saw_ who he really was, through all the death and black dealings and the darkness that Geralt had lived in his entire life.

Jaskier wrapped his arms around his head, holding him just as tightly to himself, “I’ve got you big guy. I love you.” He said, a truly sincere and beautiful smile on his face as Geralt just broke down in tears, never before and never again sobbing his newly regained soul into Jaskier’s shirt, giving him his heart, that soul, and every part of him that had cried out for love the moment his mother had left him on a street corner in the dark, watching as she drove away.

* * *

Geralt lay face down on the bed, head resting in his arms, Jaskier sitting on his desk chair nearby and spinning in it from side to side. Now everything was out in the open he had not stopped talking. Asking questions that weren’t really questions just intriguing statements, voicing opinions on what Geralt’s life must have been, imagining the people he’s dealt with and, because it was Jaskier and you know, _murder aside_ , he was getting excited again at the images going through his mind. He wanted to know about situations where he’d had to protect Yennefer’s life, did he throw his sexy muscled body around these people, have them begging for mercy, how many times had he saved her, oh what he’d do to see him in action, he’d already had a taste of it after all with how he saved Jaskier from that mugger and-

“ _Jaskier_! I haven’t cried since before I got that medallion! My head is _splitting_ will you _shut up?_!”

Jaskier paused, eyebrows arching where he froze in his spinning on the chair, before he grinned, impressed, and bounced up from the chair and sat with another bounce onto the bed next to Geralt.

“ _Wooooow_! How can anyone not cry in such a long time? I mean I cry at least once a day like even if its happy tears its like oh my god that dog is so cute or a sad film oh don’t get me started on sad films like the smallest thing will set me off…”

Jaskier continued to chatter away, his hands gesturing a mile a minute along with the words he was saying, and from where he lay on the bed, head raised, Geralt…smiled at him. A true, never before seen, actual genuine teeth-showing smile. Oh he was annoyed, exhausted, ecstatically happy, fucking _everything_ which he was still trying to process which was just causing him more pain and frustration, but…this was Jaskier. The man who apparently loved him for everything he was.

How could he _not_ smile anymore?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yes, for those who may recognise it I blatantly stole the layout of that last part from the anime Gravitation. It's my favourite, I'm sure I subconsciously steal bits from that in every fic I've ever written.
> 
> Please continue leaving reviews because you have no IDEA how long I spent going over this chapter making sure it felt right.


	8. “What happened that night?”

**Nine days ago…**

“Yen, there are people in there you can’t make me do this!” Geralt whispered harshly down the phone as he hid around the corner of a building, peering out towards the third and final warehouse Yennefer wanted destroyed. The men he was with were hiding further on, impatiently waiting for their orders. They didn’t understand what the problem was and wanted to get on with their job, but Geralt was the one they had to obey.

“Geralt, I don’t give a fuck if there are people in there! They work for the Nilfgaards, they attacked me, so their workers _die_!”

Geralt peered back out to the warehouse. The lights were on inside, and he could hear music as machinery whirred. There shouldn’t have been anyone here, the other two had been empty, he didn’t know if it was just late night workers or what they were doing but he did not want to set fire to the building with people inside!

“Yennefer this is pointless, I’ll wait a few hours until they’ve gone it won’t make any difference.”

There was a terrifying silence the other end.

“If you don’t burn that building immediately, I’m going to be forced to question your loyalty Geralt. And I _really_ don’t want to do that because you know what that means.”

Yes, he did know. If Yennefer suspected duplicity she didn’t give a chance for it to grow, she chopped the head off right from the start. If he gave her suspicion that there was a part of him growing to disobey, then ex-lover or not she would dispose of him in the furthest darkest pit she could find. He’d like to think that having known each other for long there’d be a leeway, she said herself before that Geralt was the only one she truly trusted, it was why he was on this job in the first place. If he lost that trust now, she would be capable of doing anything to him at any time. He’d seen the receiving end of Yennefer’s wrath so many times. Mainly because she’d been the hand at his collar as he dished out the wrath for her.

No one pissed of Yennefer Venderberg, not even the White Wolf.

With his heart feeling like a lead weight, he sighed, “Yes, of course. I’ll do it.”

“Good. Now don’t you _dare_ waste my time with something like this again. Do you job and get back here, I need you to re-secure the house.”

“Yes.” He hung up the phone, then leant his back against the wall out of sight of his men, “ _Fuck_.”

If he didn’t do it, if he went behind her back and waited, the men here would only tell her that Geralt gave the order to do so. He was trapped. On one hand there was the death of who knew how many in that warehouse, on the other, his own death at Yennefer’s hands.

He’d hoped those men had done some terrible things in their lives and that they deserved what Geralt was about to reap upon them.

Hating himself already, he turned around the corner and marched up to his men, “Last one.” he said, and one of them began handing out cans of petrol to the others, before tossing Geralt the last one who caught it automatically, but looked at it as though he’d been given his own death sentence.

When they’d finished the job, and Geralt hesitated before lighting the match that set the building ablaze, his men already talking casually about how they wanted to go out for drinks, he knew those screams would be haunting him for a _very_ long time.

* * *

**Current time…**

With his barriers so brutally broken down, and after he’d stopped pretending that Jaskier’s chattering was annoying him and had smiled at him so brilliantly, Geralt had fallen into one of the most guilt free sleeps he’d had in his life. He had clung to Jaskier, mentally exhausted, and feeling lighter in spirit than ever before. The knowledge that the person with him knew everything and still said they loved him, Geralt never ever thought he’d see a day like this, had never even crossed his mind, had buried any hopeful thought of a normal loving partner so deep and far away it had become nothing but a fleeting fantasy.

Jaskier however, stayed awake for hours in Geralt’s arms.

He watched him sleep again, carefully running his fingers through those silver-white strands, watching and now understanding exactly how that sleeping innocent face was not innocent at all. He couldn’t sleep because he’d figured out why he hadn’t really been affected by Geralt’s tale. The past five days he had been repeating to himself like a mantra that whenever Geralt gave in and told him his life story, Jaskier would not be afraid. For Geralt’s sake, because whatever it was, it was obviously tearing him apart. Geralt was terrified of Jaskier’s terror, and Jaskier didn’t want to hurt him because Jaskier didn’t hurt people, so he would not be afraid. Over and over again, to the point that when Geralt had told him just how far into the underworld he was, just how many people he’d hurt, he’d _killed_ , Jaskier had taken that mantra and wrapped himself in it. He was not afraid. He was _not afraid_.

But.

There was obviously something bothering him after all, for at first he had fallen asleep for a short time, but it hadn’t lasted long. Geralt was cocooning him so tightly, clinging to the one person who loved him even after hearing his awful tale, but Jaskier had woken up after only 20 minutes to his heart pounding at the nightmare he’d just had. Waking up in Geralt’s arms he immediately felt so warm and protected, for Geralt didn’t seem to see that despite all the terrible things he’d done he had chosen out of all things to be a bodyguard. Deep inside him he wanted to protect people, not hurt them, even if he was currently protecting the wrong people.

Or _person_. 

Jaskier didn’t know what this Yennefer looked like but he had dreamt about her. She was a faceless figure, running wildly around a bonfire, men’s screams erupting from the flames, _burn, burn_ she was shouting gleefully at it. Geralt was there, watching them both, a petrol bomb in one hand and his gun in the other. Jaskier had run up to Yennefer, grabbing her arm, shouting back at her;

“Stop!!! Stop it he doesn’t want to do this!!!”

But her faceless form simply turned towards Geralt, and her words changed from _burn_ to _shoot_ , _shoot him, shoot him_ she screamed, pointing at Jaskier as she backed away from him into darkness, leaving nothing but the screaming flames and Geralt looking at Jaskier with an unreadable face.

“I follow her orders.” He stated calmly, before raising his gun and firing it directly at Jaskier.

Jaskier had awoken with a start, and immediately realised two things. Firstly, he was obviously not as unafraid as he’d thought he was and boy did _that_ need dealing with, and secondly, he really did love Geralt. So much. Because even after dreaming that and having it fresh and in heavy detail in his mind, he still felt so happy to be waking up in his arms.

Geralt wanted to protect, not kill, and Jaskier wondered…wondered if Geralt had ever tried to disobey Yennefer when she’d told him to kill. The flames, the screams, Jaskier remembered Geralt telling him about the warehouse, the people inside burning at her orders. He remembered feeling his heart rate leap at the image, but his mantra was in his mind, you’re not afraid, you’re not afraid, and he wasn’t, truly. Geralt did not frightened him, perhaps because Jaskier grew up in a family of psychologists, and whether he wanted to follow in their footsteps or not perhaps enough of their way of looking at others had rubbed off on him. He saw past the fear to the frightened boy underneath. He saw past fear to the man not wanting this way of life.

But that didn’t mean he was ignoring the things Geralt had done.

Geralt had suffered, but people had suffered because of him too. Geralt was following orders, he felt trapped, Jaskier understood all of that. The people that had attacked him and shot him in the arm, Geralt hadn’t killed any of them. Without orders Geralt didn’t want to kill, but felt he couldn’t escape from this world, Jaskier _got_ that.

But the dream.

“Yeah,” Jaskier whispered to himself softly, watching the slow rise and fall of Geralt’s chest and then smiling thoughtfully, “my parents would be telling me to talk to you.” He then snuggled down against him, careful of Geralt’s injured but healing arm that was now wrapped around him, “But not now.” He kissed the nearest bit of skin to his lips, “I love you, you complicated man.”

And that wasn’t a mantra. He’d never been more in love with anyone in his life. Geralt made sense to him now. All of his grumpiness, all of his heated passion making Jaskier feel like the most loved person on this planet only to be followed by fear and throwing him out again. Geralt had wanted to love him so much but had been afraid of the consequences. Now it was all out in the open. With his guards down Geralt was soft and wanting, Jaskier caught those smiles when he thought he wasn’t looking, caught the way he would touch him, or how his attention was only on him when they’d been watching that film together. Now with those barriers destroyed entirely Jaskier was almost giddy with anticipation on what a freely loving Geralt would be like, and the thought turned him on something fierce. Geralt may not realise it, but he absolutely radiated this new and pure love and Jaskier was basking in every ray.

Geralt was the wrong man for the life he was stuck in.

This talk was going to happen.

* * *

It went to prove that although he was worried for Geralt and for himself, and things were obviously weighing on his mind about what he’d been told, Jaskier truly did love him very much, for his second dream when he eventually fell asleep again consisted of nothing but heat and delicious friction. Of soft golden eyes and a tongue mapping out Jaskier’s body. Of scarred, rough skin on hard, gentle hands, making Jaskier shiver and want more, the heat pooling down his body into his groin and… _oh_!

Well that explained it. When Jaskier opened his eyes Geralt was half on top of him, nuzzling his neck, leaving trails of hungry kisses across his skin. One hand was wandering down across his stomach, palm massaging across soft skin, going down, down across one thigh, grasping the flesh greedily before spreading his palm out against it again. Jaskier was already half hard in his sleep because of it, and at the smile he could feel pressed against his neck from Geralt when he realised Jaskier was awake, the wolf knew precisely what he was doing.

And he did.

The first thing he saw when he awoke this morning was Jaskier’s sleeping face, and immediately everything that had happened last night came flooding back. The acceptance, the love, the truth finally told, and everything that was just Jaskier. And he was still here! Hadn’t changed his mind in the middle of the night and run! He’d stayed with him. It wasn’t a dream. This was actually happening.

Geralt’s heart had swelled with so much affection for the sleeping singer he just couldn’t help himself. They’d hadn’t had sex since the last time Geralt threw him out, and _now_ , now knowing Jaskier wanted him even after hearing that truth…Geralt wanted him. Badly. Fuck his arm. It was six days now since he’d been shot he was fine.

“Mmmm, Geralt…” Jaskier moaned groggily, eyes falling shut again, arms coming up around Geralt’s shoulders, neck arching letting Geralt kiss his way up before finally claiming his lips.

The kiss was heated but slow, a lazy, sleepy morning kiss that was promising oh so much more. Jaskier was so easy to manipulate, body not awake although very much responding. Geralt hooked his arm up around Jaskier’s thigh, heaving his leg up to the side.

“I want you Jaskier,” Geralt growled possessively against his lips, Jaskier letting out nothing but sweet, sleepy whimpers, “It’s been over a week,” he kissed him again, capturing his lips with a deep breathy moan, “I want to make love to you.”

Not fuck.

Make love.

Oh gods, Jaskier practically swooned.

“ _Nnnng_ , okay…” 

He let his sleepy body be entirely manhandled, Geralt taking a pillow and sliding it underneath Jaskier’s hips, bringing them up. Jaskier’s eyes still remained closed, part of him wondering if he’d woken up at all, if this wasn’t still his dream as Geralt touched and kissed him absolutely everywhere. With his body still so relaxed from sleep it was easy when Geralt pushed two lubed fingers inside him, Jaskier letting out a long, gorgeous groan at the feel as his arms gripped around him tighter.

Jaskier’s skin felt it was burning with passion at every touch, Geralt’s fingertips teasing, his palms warm and heavy, his lips worshipping every bit of skin they pressed against. Geralt was still quiet, words were not his friends, but he didn’t need them. He’d bite into him every now and then, making his mark and making Jaskier’s heart rate soar and his lips gasp beautifully, but each bite would be licked and kissed and cared for and _fuck_ , by the time Geralt was pulling Jaskier’s hips further up onto the pillow and gently breaching the head of his cock against his entrance, Jaskier was so relaxed and so aroused Geralt could slide in all the way the first time without stopping.

“ _Ohhhhh fuck_!” Jaskier moaned loudly, panting already at the feel of that hard cock feeling _so_ good and _so_ deep inside him, those strong hands grasping onto his hips, that hot muscled body leaning down over him to take his lips in another gorgeously possessive kiss.

Geralt was so hard for him. He never knew how much of a turn on love could be. It was so foreign to him, he didn’t understand why it made him feel this way but it _did_ , and he wanted _more_. He felt he needed Jaskier so much it was like he wanted to crawl inside his chest and make himself home there.

When Geralt began to move, snapping his hips forward, pulling out slowly, snapping them forward again, slowly and deeply, Jaskier’s arms just fell to the sides of his head, face beautifully flushed and grunting and moaning on every thrust. Geralt’s long hair would frame their faces as they kissed, enshrouding them with a curtain of white, blocking out any other sight. It was just the two of them. There was only love and nothing else.

“ _Uhhh_ , Geralt!” Jaskier let out one desperate gasp followed by the deepest groan as Geralt pushed Jaskier’s legs down to the mattress, holding the backs of his knees, his entire body flushed against his as still he rocked deeply inside him. 

Unlike times before where the pace would grow and grow until they were both coming hard, Geralt really was making love to him this time, and the pace would change. Slow, speeding up, slow again, shallow thrusts, deep plunges down, the angle from the pillow making Geralt’s cock brush those delicate nerves every time while he peppered kisses around Jaskier’s face, jaw and along his shoulders.

Jaskier was losing his mind for it.

His entire body was shaking, his breaths coming in small desperate pants, and he kissed Geralt back with feverish lust. Geralt would pump into him, fast and unrelenting, but only for moments at a time, building Jaskier’s orgasm up and then taking it away at the at the last moment. Jaskier’s mouth would hang open in utter pleasure as he did, moaning constantly and building in speed, and then have to bite his lips and bite back the groans as Geralt slowed. He was _so_ ready to come, _so_ needing it, and Geralt was being a damned _amazing_ tease about it.

“Uhh, ahh, _guuuh_ , Ge-…fuck me! Ohhh fuck, please, _uhhhhhhhhh fuck me_!!” Jaskier tried to roll his hips up, desperate and needing, squeezing Geralt’s cock against his inner walls pulling him down into him as much as he could. “ _Fuck_ I love you!” he cried out against Geralt’s lips.

That proved the L word was definitely the catalyst for Geralt’s arousal, for as soon as _love_ left Jaskier’s lips the growl that left Geralt’s was so raw, so frantic, almost heart-breaking at its intensity, and it was that that had him finally fucking down into him just as Jaskier wanted. Teeth clanged together where they tried to desperately kiss, the headboard banging nosily against the wall, the gentle teasing now rough and primal and so passionately intense.

“Uhh _fuck_ Jaskier-!” Geralt was practically rutting against him, all sense of pace had been lost, nothing but erratic thrusts and Jaskier now moaning deeply into his ear.

“Say it Geralt! Oh _fuck_! Uhh yes moan my name. Moan it!!”

He wanted to hear it. Geralt said so little during sex and only near the end when he was approaching his climax did he start moaning his name like that. And Jaskier loved it. Wanted to hear it more, wanted to see Geralt loose his control. Say it, moan it, cry it, he didn’t care just let him hear his name fall from those lips with uncontrolled passion behind it.

Geralt was grunting powerfully into his neck, “Jaskier. _Uhhh_ Jaskier. _Jaskier_. _Fuck_!” He then reached down between them to grab at Jaskier’s cock, pumping it hard and just as erratically. Everything was a frenzy.

“ _Ahhhhh_ …” Jaskier’s eyes rolled, clutching onto Geralt desperately and was completely unprepared when Geralt suddenly raised his head and moaned hungrily right into his ear;

“ _Julian_.”

Jaskier practically chocked on his own breaths and without warning at all his orgasm crashed into him at a hundred miles an hour. He came so hard, his come splashing up onto his own face as Geralt still pumped his cock for all it had. He screamed so loudly and clung onto Geralt for dear life as still Geralt fucked down into him, Jaskier barely able to breath or think or do anything but feel the sweat dripping off his legs and the bed sound as if it was going to break before Geralt finally came, deep and pulsating and still fucking into him. Geralt could feel his own hot come around his cock as he pushed deeper and deeper, crying out with a such a deep, gravelly cry into Jaskier’s neck, until finally he collapsed on top of him, both of them breathing so, _so_ hard.

For the first time Geralt had no strength to keep himself slightly elevated so as not to squash Jaskier beneath, or even just move off him. But Jaskier didn’t mind, if anything having that hard-muscled form squashing him into the mattress made him feel even more protected, and that was what he had a thing about. It wasn’t being in danger, it was about having a rescuer, someone who would fight the world for him. That’s what turned Jaskier on. That’s why he was so excited when he first found out Geralt was a bodyguard, it was like his ultimate fantasy, to be loved and protected unconditionally by one person no matter the danger. Someone who would risk everything to keep them safe, risk everything for love, and love is exactly what Jaskier himself would risk anything for. Love was what he was born to do, and he loved Geralt, unconditionally. He knew it.

So he would risk everything for him.

“I don’t want you to kill anyone anymore Geralt,” Jaskier found himself panting softly into Geralt’s ear as their chests slowly calmed against one another, “I want you to be happy.”

There was silence for a moment, nothing but their breaths and their racing hearts, until Jaskier felt Geralt speak against his neck, “If it was that easy I would have walked away a long time ago.”

“But would you have?” Jaskier asked earnestly, “You wouldn’t have known any other kind of life back then. Would have had no other offer. But you’ve got me now.” He said, squeezing him gently, “You could walk away for me?”

_Please walk away for me._

A small chuckle vibrated against Jaskier’s neck, and Geralt raised his head, looking down at the very sincere look on his lovers face, “My sweet, innocent Jaskier.” He said, before Jaskier’s heart very nearly jumped out of his chest at the feel of Geralt licking across his cheek, lapping up the spurt of come that had landed there and then swallowing it.

“Nnng _guh_ …” Jaskier muttered dazedly, before grinning widely and giving him _a look_ , “You wanna call me _innocent_ after _that_?”

“But you are innocent.” Geralt insisted, quite seriously “I can’t just walk away from this life. There’s only one way to get out, and I…” he lowered his eyes to Jaskier lips, before raising them again and just looking at him so honestly, “I don’t want that to happen now I’ve found you.”

It was such a romantic statement for Geralt that Jaskier was torn between swooning at those words that he never would have imagined would come out of his mouth before last night, and the tense suggestion behind it that only death was the way out of the crime world.

“We need to talk about this.” Jaskier decided out loud, tucking Geralt’s hair behind one ear, “There’s something that I dreamt about that’s bothering me. We have to talk more about what you were telling me last night.”

Geralt looked genuinely worried, his face falling as if Jaskier had just said that he changed his mind he didn’t love him he was leaving this was it the end and Jaskier felt horrible for doing it but he actually _laughed_.

“You are utterly neurotic you know that?” he said, cupping his entire face between his hands and kissing him softly, kissing away the worry, “Though I suppose you’re allowed to be considering. Don’t worry. I just…” he bit his lip in thought on how to phrase it, “…just need to clarify a few things.”

Geralt tilted his head while looking at him, concern evident on his face but not so much worry any more. Geralt had to admit, as mind-blowingly amazing as it had been for Jaskier not to appear to react negatively at all to what he was saying, it was…odd, to say the least. Geralt was a murderer. No one should have no reaction to that. Perhaps now it had all sunk in Jaskier had questions, concerns…but god if he changed his mind, if the answers he gave were not what Jaskier wanted to hea- no, no stop it. Jaskier said not to worry, so he wouldn’t worry. He trusted Jaskier. He…

He loved Jaskier.

God he really did.

It was all so new, almost terrifying. In a good way. He wondered how long it would be before he could say those words to Jaskier himself? His tongue felt like it curled around himself when the thought had arisen while they were making love. He had been so close to whispering it against Jaskier’s skin, but it caught in his throat like sandpaper, so he’d bitten into one pert little nipple instead, getting a wonderful groan from Jaskier, and then licking around it until the sharp sudden but wonderful pain was gone. He didn’t do words. It’s why he treated Jaskier the way he did, hoping how he felt came through with his actions, his hands and his lips, more than the words that were stuck in his throat.

If Jaskier really loved him, then Geralt was going to treat him like a king for it.

“So… _now_ can I have a shower with you?” Jaskier asked, to change the subject from the all too serious one it had turned to, and was pleased to see a smile curl the corner of Geralt’s lips. 

“Why are you so insistent about that?”

“Why are you _not_?”

It was a good question. Jaskier had tried every day to have a shower with him. At first it was to help him keep his arm bandage dry, or help him unbandage his chest to see if anything was bleeding. Geralt had declined, he could handle keeping his own arm out the water thanks and they could check the bandages anywhere else. Then it was to suggest helping him wash his hair, because he couldn’t raise his left arm very high without wincing sharply in pain. Geralt had another hand though, so why did he need Jaskier? Hell he’d already been naked in a bath with Jaskier’s hands in his hair, so what the fuck was it about the shower that felt so different? So personal? And what did that matter anyway it’s not like Jaskier hadn’t seen everything already they’d had sex quite a few times now!

Perhaps…perhaps because sharing a shower is what _lovers_ did? And until now Jaskier had just been a…a what, a hope? A hope he thought would be fleeting and get lost in the wind, when in fact it fluttered into his heart and refused to move.

“Alright.” Geralt said quietly, and Jaskier’s eyes went wide with his own hope.

“What, _really_?”

“Mmm.”

Jaskier’s face split into the biggest grin as he attempted to wiggle as fast as he could out from underneath Geralt, Geralt watching with amusement at his enthusiasm as Jaskier grabbed his hand and practically dragged him up out of the bed.

“Well let’s go! Go go now shower move it! Before you change your mind!”

Geralt let himself be moved along, Jaskier pushing him from behind but deliberately moving as slow as possible, just to see the frustration on his singers face and the amusement of it grow in his own chest. He got the feeling that maybe teasing Jaskier was going to be something he was going to enjoy in this relationship.

When Jaskier realised he was doing it deliberately, he pouted.

“Get in the shower or I punch you in your bad arm.”

Geralt raised his eyebrows, highly amused at the thought of Jaskier trying to fight anyone, let alone the tower of muscle that was Geralt, “Resorting to violence? I have rubbed off on you.”

“ _Now_!!! Now now now now _now_!!”

* * *

Geralt had been right. It was the intimacy of lovers that had put him off the shower. But now they _were_ lovers, oh now it felt wonderful. Geralt no longer had his chest bandaged, he really did heal quickly and the slashes on his chest and back were closed. Still tender, but closed. His arm was still bandaged though, and under the steamy water falling from the huge waterfall shower cubicle he had Jaskier gently take the bandage off his arm. 

“I think I should remove the stitches.” Jaskier said, looking over what was once a mangled hole and now a large patch of scarring skin, “I mean I guess, I have no idea what it’s supposed to look like.”

Geralt tried to peer down at the wound from the awkward angle over his shoulder, “Looks okay. There’s scissors in the cabinet there.”

Geralt nodded over to the bathroom cabinet, so Jaskier stepped out the shower and retrieved them. He then careful begun un-plucking each one, pulling them through the healing skin. There was no blood, nothing to indicate anything was infected. The inside of his arm may be worse for wear than the outside but at least that was now closed. Jaskier placed a kiss to the wound.

“Nearly all better.” He said, so ridiculous sweetly Geralt couldn’t help but cup his face and pull him in for a kiss.

The water fell over them both as Geralt kissed him softly, tongues gently sliding together as the water began to wash away the evidence of their love making. Jaskier was so happy, the look of Geralt’s naked body covered in stories and dripping with water, _gods_ this man was a hunk. This is the view he’d been denied every time Geralt had refused.

They then began what Jaskier had been dying to do from the very beginning, which was to have an excuse to get Geralt all lathered up and soapy. He had just begun to wash him with the exuberance of an overly excited child, although carefully of course over the healing scars, before Geralt had the mortifying discovery that he was apparently…ticklish. Jaskier had gently run his hands down his side, over a patch of healing skin, and Geralt had jerked away with a noise from his throat that could only be considered a reluctant chortle. Jaskier had stared at him with huge wide eyes. Geralt had stared back, looking horrified as if he’d just been caught masturbating in a public library.

And then, if ever there was a predatory look in Jaskier’s eyes, this was the moment.

“No.” Geralt warned, stepping back, “We’re in a shower.”

Jaskier had grinned the biggest grin, but before he had a chance to pounce Geralt had used his tactics to grab Jaskier’s arm and spin him around, pinning him against the wall before they both lost their footing on the slippery floor.

“Oh Geralt,” Jaskier was still grinning, his cheek pressed against the wet tiles, “you can try and hide it as much as you want but you are the cutest man there ever was.”

Geralt just growled in embarrassed anger before it turned into a sigh of defeat half way through, and he pressed his nose into Jaskier’s wet hair. His immense muscled form really had no effect on Jaskier at all in terms of fear. Everyone took one look at Geralt and ran. Jaskier ran too, just in the wrong direction, into his arms.

And Geralt was blatantly ignoring how fiery red he felt his face must be right now.

“Are you going to take me pinned up against the wall Geralt?”

Jaskier’s voice was dark, and cheeky, and Geralt just smirked, pressing himself up fully against his back, one hand running down over Jaskier’s stomach just stopping where he was sure Jaskier wished it hadn’t.

“Next time.” He replied hotly in his ear, his voice deep and promising, and Jaskier _shivered_.

* * *

“So, what do you want to ask?” Geralt enquired, as they both sat back down at the dining table again where this had all happened last night. They both had a cup of coffee with them having just finished breakfast. Geralt’s was black. Jaskier’s had eight sugars in it.

“Well, um…okay.” Jaskier wiggled in his chair to get comfy, clasping his hands together on the table and licking his lips, “Well, I had two dreams last night. You were in both parts. The second, loving, tender, _very_ generous.” He grinned to lighten the little grey cloud that had come over them both now this was happening, but Geralt didn’t seem to take the bait, “The first however, significantly more…” he wanted to say terrifying, but that was a taboo word for Geralt, “…questioning.” He decided upon.

“Hmm. Tell me about the second one.” A smile caught the edge of Geralt’s lips. Perhaps the attempt at humour hadn’t gone amiss after all.

Jaskier just inclined his head to the bedroom with a smile, “You know about that one, _Mr Ticklish_.” He teased, “It’s the first one we need to talk about.”

“Alright.” Geralt said quietly, trying to ignore the tickle comment.

Whatever Jaskier had to ask, he’d reply honestly. There was no point in lying about anything now. He wasn’t going to risk tainting any of the trust that had been brought forth after last night.

Jaskier took a deep breath. He supposed the only way to do it was to just come out and say it, “In my dream, and I still remember it really vividly, there was this…fire, and it was…screaming.” He looked to Geralt to see if he got the hint of what that may be about, and by the sudden sullen look on his face it would seem he’d got it immediately.

“The warehouse.”

Jaskier nodded, “Yeah. You said you didn’t regret any of the people you’d killed, apart from the first ones, and that they’re all bad people but,” oh Jaskier hoped Geralt gave him the answer he wanted. He didn’t want to think of the alternative, “…but…well, you didn’t know if the ones in that warehouse were bad. Maybe they just worked there, didn’t know what it was all about. I know you said you did it on Yennefer’s orders but…do you regret what happened to them too? Did you ever…ever think about… _not_ obeying her?” Jaskier grit his teeth, looking very wary. Words were normally his forte but this was not exactly a situation he was used to being in, asking his lover about the people he’d killed. “I just don’t want you to think I’m glossing over what you told me yesterday. I love you, but I understand you’ve done _really_ bad things. I just need to know if that was one you regretted as well?”

If only to give him more time in how to reply, Geralt took a sip of his coffee. “In answer to both,” he eventually said, “the answer is yes.”

The panic that had been very slowly rising this entire time in Jaskier’s chest immediately vanished, and he let out a small sigh which he hoped wasn’t too obvious, “What happened that night?” he asked quietly.

And so Geralt told him. Told him about the attack on Yennefer, her retribution by destroying their goods, finding the lights on and the music playing in the third warehouse. He told him about the phone call, having thought Yennefer would tell him to wait but just ending up giving her more opportunity to hurt the Nilfgaards. Kill the workmen, burn them along with the warehouse, she didn’t care about them why would she? They meant nothing to her, a blip on her memory that would be forgotten about. He told him how he knew there was no way to avoid it, that he’d be killed by her, or worse just kept locked up as an example to anyone else, that even the lover and friend of the head of Venderbergs could end up starved and beaten to within an inch of his life if he gave so much as a hint of betrayal.

“It’s why I just can’t walk away.” Geralt said, sounding like he was signing away his freedom, which in a way he had, “She’ll walk away with my life if I do.”

Jaskier was looking at him thoughtfully, a downward pull to his eyebrows, “But…and I don’t mean this to sound at all the way it is exactly going to sound but….you’re _you_ couldn’t you just… _kill her_?” he asked, his voice almost a squeak at the end, pulling a face that said he couldn’t believe he was suggesting this, “I mean it would solve everyone’s problems. And it would stop a lot more deaths happening.”

“Hmm. And I would have every single member of every single rival family after my head. I’d be the lose canon, the one none of them could ever trust again if I turned against her after so many years. They’d all be after my life, because they’d all be fearing for theirs. And even if they couldn’t get to me they’d get to you, as warning for me. And unfortunately, I don’t have the luxury of calling into the police for witness protection. There wouldn’t be a person left on either side who wouldn’t want to hunt me down.” Jaskier didn’t say anything in reply to that, and Geralt just looked to the table, “I told you being with me would be dangerous. If you want to go…” Geralt could feel his heart clench in his chest, “…I’d understand.”

Jaskier _still_ didn’t say anything, which began to panic Geralt, but he kept his head and waited. Perhaps Jaskier hadn’t realised the extent of the danger he’d be in, or the extent of just how deep in Geralt was. Jaskier wanted him to stop killing, but if Yennefer ordered him to at any point in the future…would Jaskier really continue to say he loved him?

They sat in silence for a moment, and although Jaskier didn’t answer Geralt’s question, he changed the subject slightly.

“In my dream, you killed me.”

Geralt’s eyes snapped up to him at that, his face shocked and sickened, “ _What_?”

“Yennefer ordered you to.” Jaskier quickly elaborated, “You said that you follow her orders, and then you shot me.” Jaskier looked down to the table now, biting his lip before looking back into Geralt’s eyes, “Everyone you’ve…murdered, “he made himself say it, “it was all on orders. I understand that, I do, and I understand the predicament of being stuck there unable to get away. But I want you to understand that I’m not some freak who’s just going to ignore everything you told me just because I love you. I understand what you are. Doesn’t excuse the things you’ve done, but it explains them, so… I wanted to know. If she gave the order, if she didn’t approve of me knowing all this just like you said yesterday that she may not…would you kill m-“

“Don’t even fucking say that!” Geralt snapped at him, fury in his golden eyes, feeling the hairs on the back of his neck rise at even the horrifying thought of it, “Of _course_ I wouldn’t.”

“But you just said you’d follow her orders, that you have no choice.”

“Not with you.”

“But she’d kill you for disobeying right?”

“I don’t care, let her try. _No one_ hurts you.”

A knowing smile grew on Jaskier’s lips, “You see? You do have a choice, you’ve just got to spread that choice out beyond myself. Use that voice on her, stand up to her. You’re only refusing to kill people, you’re not saying you won’t protect her, or will leave her, just that if the situation calls for having to kill someone, she promises she doesn’t involve you.”

Geralt was just shaking his head, “Jaskier you have no idea how naïve you soun-“

“-and you have no idea how stubborn you sound.” He interrupted, fixing him with a hard stare, “Look I’m guessing there’s some sort of contract between the two of you right? Bodyguards have that don’t they? Between themselves and their client? Does yours state anywhere that you are to do anything beyond your guarding duty? Does it say you have to actively go out of your way to kill people for her? To torture people? Be sent out to burn down buildings?”

Geralt had been shaking his head in annoyance that Jaskier wasn’t understanding, but stopped the more he talked. The contract. Actually….Jaskier was spot on correct with that. When they’d broken up Yennefer had even mentioned it, that could she still rely on him for the contract. He’d said yes, but then Yennefer even went beyond that asking “But nothing more?”

“Nothing more.” He had replied.

Oh she’d been referring to their sexual relationship but…but if he could use that, emphasise the contract for bodyguard only, that nothing more also implied anything outside of that contract…well. Maybe? For years he’d been doing more for her because they were together, and some sense of misguided loyalty came from that and Geralt had been pulled in without even realising. Yennefer had let him be on the outside but had slowly been dragging him in for years. She had been using him. He was supposed to only be her bodyguard, had been from the start, the contract had never changed since he signed it twelve years ago, and if there was one thing that kept the crime families in business it was obeying their contracts. If they broke them then they would be known as untrustworthy, which ironically was a big bad thing in the crime world. If you wanted something done illegally you wanted assurance that no one would stab you in the back for it.

Maybe…maybe this could work.

“The contract…” Geralt muttered aloud as he thought, before tilting his head, “…it’s a long shot but…I could try.”

Jaskier positively beamed at him, and took his hands in his own on the table just like last night, “Good, cos I don’t want you killing anyone else. Not only because, you know, its murder and that’s bad and…well, its _murder_ , but it’s destroying you. I can see it every time it gets mentioned. I want you to be happy, with me.”

Geralt squeezed his hands back gently, “I don’t know if this will work, it seems like I’m just grasping at straws, she could laugh it off. Or still have me killed for bringing it up.” He was half joking. Which meant he was half serious.

“I don’t think so,” Jaskier mused, “I mean you have known each other for a long time, even in a relationship for five years, and I think that when it comes down to it…I don’t think she’d hurt you.”

Geralt just tilted his head at him again, both adoring his innocence and realising this little lark really desperately needed protecting from himself in this world, “Jaskier you can’t project your romanticism onto Yennefer, you don’t know what she’s like at all.”

“But I know what you’re like.” He said softly, giving him the sweetest smile and running his thumb against Geralt’s wrist, “I know how you make me feel, so she must have felt something, at some point. She must _know_ you as well, maybe this won’t come as a surprise in the end?”

Geralt sighed, but it was one now of admiration for Jaskier’s confidence, “So…I’m sitting down with the head of the Venerbergs and saying _sorry can’t kill for you anymore_?”

Jaskier smiled brightly, “I reckon she’ll listen to you.”

Geralt raised a questioning eyebrow, “What could possibly go wrong?” He sighed again, “I’ll try Jaskier.”

* * *

**6 days ago…**

The photo of Geralt and Jaskier walking arm in arm along the embankment reflected from the phone screen into the woman's furious eyes. She gripped the phone so hard it was shaking, and when the door to the room opened she leapt up from her chair and threw the phone at the man who walked through.

“HE WAS SUPPOSED TO BE DEAD!! YOU PROMISED ME CAHIR!!! YOU PROMISED!!!!”

Cahir ducked, the phone hitting the wall and the screen cracking horribly all the way through. He turned to her, giving her a look of exasperation before picking up the phone and brushing away the broken shards.

“And this is why I don’t let you go after him yourself. You do and he’ll be splattered not only all over the pavement but all over the news, and if you bring the police here I will kill you myself. But you know that, so there’s really no point in this tantrum is there?”

The woman had a knife at his throat in seconds, her big brown eyes full of hatred, but the man simply blinked at her, “Put the knife down, or I’ll have to reconsider hiring you to _protect_ me. Bit of an issue if I’m dead, and then you’ll never get to him.”

She clenched her teeth, snarling, but still put the knife down, grabbing the phone out of his hand instead and walking back to her chair, sitting down angrily.

“I find it interesting,” Cahir began, “that he didn’t kill my men. I send nine after him, and nine return. Worse for wear, but alive. Makes me wonder if the Wolf has been tamed a little too much. Perhaps he’s finally losing his edge.” He looked down to her, a cruel smile to his lips, “Perhaps you’ll get your chance at the wedding. But you will behave there until it is time,” he leant down over her, placing his hands on the arm rests effectively pinning her to the chair, “is that understood? You will not ruin my plans for your own personal glory. You do as I tell you, when I tell you, including when or _if_ you get to kill Geralt while there. Are we clear?”

She peered up at him, her dark wavy hair only just reaching her shoulders. She nodded. Being here was her only chance of getting what she wanted, if that meant protecting the heir to the Nilfgaard legacy, then so be it.

“Good girl.” Cahir patted her head lightly, before turning to walk back through the door, “I’ll get you another phone, and do _try_ not to break that one Renfri.”

He left her alone, staring down at her broken screen, rubbing a good luck charm between her thumb and forefinger that hung from the side of the phone. It always relaxed her. It always reminded her of a time long ago when she had her innocence before it had been ripped away from her. It always reminded her of why she had spent her miserable life hunting down the man, the _boy_ , that had thrown her down this path.

The little charm calmed her.

It was in the shape of a cat.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oooooo the plot thickens! The revelation of Renfri and her part in Geralt's life, will Geralt survive Yennefer, a marriage! Whose marriage I hear you ask? Ooooo plot.
> 
> REVIEWS PLEASE you lovely people!! <3<3


	9.  “I would never have done this without you.”

She thought she had dreamt those golden eyes at first. They weren’t a nice gold either, not a gold that would sparkle and shine in the summer sunlight, but a poisoned gold belonging to that of a demon, a gold that would burn and melt your skin as you screamed.

No one had believed her afterwards. The police, the hospital, no one believed her when she said her family had been murdered by a boy with hair like snow and eyes that would haunt her every waking and sleeping moment. She’d been told that no one could look like that, and a boy that young could never have committed such crimes, and that he had to have been a dream brought on by the psychological trauma, nothing more.

But she remembered.

She remembered him standing by her bed. He was looking around her room at the time, and when those demon eyes fell back to hers she had closed them again, pretending to be asleep. It was a dream, because yes, no one real looked like that. He wasn’t really there.

When Renfi awoke the following morning, shuffling sleepily down the stairs to find no one making breakfast, she’d gone back up and opened her parents bedroom door, “Mum? Are you still asleep?” The curtains were still drawn, it was dark, and there was a strange smell in the air, a heady smell of iron that make her nose wrinkle.

The image she saw when she flicked on the lights had her in and out of psychiatric hospitals for most of her life. It didn’t help that she’d gone running into her brothers bedroom, screaming for help in absolute terror, only to be greeted with the same scene, her brothers cold dead eyes wide and staring past the door, blood staining the sheets and still dripping onto the carpet.

But she knew. She knew it was the boy. Her innocent childhood had been ripped away in one evil night, and she could feel her soul twisting inside her, the fear and gut-retching sorrow turning into blinding fury, of frustration that no one believed her.

When she wasn’t in hospital for trying to kill herself or trying to forget with too many overdoses of drugs, she began learning the even darker sides of life. She got herself involved with many wrong crowds, learnt how to defend herself, how to attack others, changing her drug overdoses to practising with knives, making herself feel less pathetic and now stronger, quicker, picturing the blood-curdled death cries of the boy with the golden eyes. Though he would be a man now.

Every day, every night, she pictured his death. Her revenge. It was what she lived for now. It wouldn’t bring her family back, it wouldn’t bring her innocence back, but there was nothing in her worthless life that meant anything more than watching the light go out of those demonic eyes. If it was the last thing she ever did, she would do to him what he did to her family, and watch the blood pour from his throat as she cut it in half with a wrathful smile.

But there was another option.

She stared down at her broken phone, the image of her nightmare arm in arm with another man, the singer that she recognised, her demon looking happy and contented instead of burning in misery at what he’d done in his youth. When she had first seen this picture online she couldn’t believe she’d found him. It was the boy, no doubt, and so she’d turned to a crime family known through her own contacts for help, offering her services in any way possible in return for helping her bring down that demon. As it happened, the Nilfgaards that she’d tuned to had no problem with this, as it was the demons employer that the son of the family, Cahir, was trying to bring down himself. She agreed to be his bodyguard, having proven her skills in a demonstration, and on the one condition he also spent his energies to kill, as she now discovered his name, Geralt, known in the underworld as the White Wolf.

She had been so furious at Cahir when his men had failed to kill the wolf, but yes, there was another option. If it came to it and Geralt was just too good, unable to get close enough to kill…well, if she couldn’t do to him what he did to her family, then she’d do to him what he’d done to herself instead. She ran her thumb down over the crack on the screen, one that went right through the singers face, her teeth clenching into a snarl.

If she couldn’t get to Geralt, then she’d kill anyone he loved instead, and make him _suffer_ like she had.

* * *

It was like déjà vu. The same scene was happening again. They were in Yennefer’s office at her front company, she was sitting in the same black dress, it was raining, just like before. Geralt was standing there, solemn and silent, having just told her that he no longer wished to kill for her. He’d made his side of the argument, going over in his mind what he’d discussed with Jaskier, practising exactly what he was going to say to her. She’d sat in silence, watching him as he spoke. 

He’d made the point that he was her bodyguard only, that she had heard of his reputation and wanted him to work for her all those years ago. That he had agreed to be, on the terms that he was not involved with any other aspect of her “business”, and had signed the contract with words to that affect. By making him go out to do her dirty work she was breaking that contract.

It had genuinely taken Geralt a lot of courage to come and speak to her directly like this, and it was Jaskier’s cheerful reassuring little face that kept on popping into his mind to give him that courage. Back when he had broken up with her, he had fully expected her to…well he wasn’t sure, but shooting him on sight had genuinely crossed his mind. 

He’d explained honestly that he no longer felt comfortable taking lives, no matter what they’d done wrong. He was here to protect her, not kill for her, she had plenty of others to do that for her. Throughout his voice was stern, commanding, but not angry. There was respect there, and he’d hoped she would notice that. The last thing he needed was for her to get angry.

He then played the card that Jaskier had given him, saying he’d hoped that after knowing each other for so long that she would _know_ him, understand that this is what he wanted, who he was, and that she would allow him to do his job for her as it always should have been. He would protect her with his life, that was no question, but he would not take others. He wasn’t blaming her for breaking the contract, he had gone along with it all this time after all, but enough was enough. He was saying no.

There was a long, silent moment after he’d finished. Geralt stood there, waiting, wondering if this was going to be his last silent moment. When he’d left the penthouse he had kissed Jaskier so hard, wondering if this would be the last time he’d get to kiss him. Jaskier had talked him into believing Yennefer would be lenient with him, they had known each other for twelve years after all, and surely even a woman like Yennefer would have a soft spot for someone she had once known so intimately.

But she was unpredictable, and he felt just as nervous as when he’d broken up with her.

Yennefer just stared up at him, blinking every now and then, before she glanced to the desk between them and sighed, in a way that was almost sad.

“I am well aware I have been breaking our contract Geralt,” she stated, and Geralt just a raised his eyebrows at the admission, having expecting at least an argument back, “and to be honest I’ve been waiting for the day when you’d mention it. Frankly I’m astounded you lasted this long.”

Saying Geralt was shocked was an understatement, “You’re… _aware_ …that you’ve been using me?”

“Of course I am,” she replied, as if it was obvious, “and don’t think I’m also not aware that you haven’t enjoyed what I’ve been making you do either. What can I say? I am a selfish woman who gets what she wants and I wanted you to do all those jobs for me.”

Geralt just stared at her, “…but _why_?”

Yennefer looked up at him, silent again, before rising from her chair to stand on equal ground. She walked around the desk to face him, and as she stared into those bemused, pretty eyes, she hesitantly raised her hand, and then surprisingly gently brushed a few locks of his hair off his shoulder.

“Geralt, I _do_ know you.” Her voice was soft, quiet, “It’s why it made my life easy ordering you off to do what I needed, because you really are the only person that I trust.”

The air was tense with something… _expectant_ …but Geralt didn’t know what. All he knew was that Yennefer had never sounded like this before. He watched as she lowered her eyes, composing herself, before looking back up at him. Her expression was strong, but oddly gentle.

“Geralt, when we were together I think...I felt something for you that I can’t process. It was always obvious from the start that I was wrong for you, I never reached back to you when you reached for me, but…you were never wrong for me.” She said quietly, her entire being seeming softer than Geralt had ever seen her before, “Making you do those things, killing who I needed rid of, even knowing that you didn’t want to, just…felt nice, because it was _you_. I am not the sort of person to be weak in front of others, even someone I cared about, even someone…I wished I could…” she trailed off.

Geralt was desperately trying to process everything he was hearing, watching her with a quietly shocked expression. Was she saying…what he thought she was saying?

“Yen, I…I didn’t know that you felt that way.” he said awkwardly, “I-I mean you never…”

She never made any indication that he was anything other than sexual relief. Now being with Jaskier it had made him realise there was a softer side to himself, one that craved attention, and perhaps he had tried to reach out to her before, but he’d certainly never gotten anything in return. After five years of it he had had enough, and without even knowing what he’d been missing just knew he couldn’t take it with her anymore. Not until Jaskier, only hours after breaking up with her, did he know what that missing thing was.

Yennefer just shrugged, “It’s who I am. I don’t think that I can relax enough to be affectionate with anyone. It’s funny because…I pictured us once, in some stupid fantasy, with a child.”

“A _child_?” Geralt exclaimed, probably rather too harshly.

“And maybe one day I will have one.” She glared at him at the tone of voice that insinuated that was the most ridiculous thing he had ever heard, “But not with you. I was never right for you. But,” she added, letting out a sigh of reluctant defeat, “I can at least give you this; my promise. You are my bodyguard, nothing more.”

Geralt tilted his head, regarding her quietly, “Really?”

She nodded, “A man should be honest with how he feels, and you have been. I won’t make you kill for me. I’ve never understood why, considering how you got your nickname, but I know you’ve never enjoyed it. You have been nothing but loyal and you _are_ the best at what you do, so I’m…sorry, for taking advantage all these years.”

“You’re _sorry_?”

Yennefer glared at him again, “You know you don’t have to sound so shocked at every single word I’m saying.”

Geralt let out an amused huff of air through his nose, looking down away from her, before fixing her with an unexpectedly warm little smile. She always surprised him, and in his own way he did care about her. Love was not part of their relationship, never had been never would be, but perhaps there had been a peculiar friendship that he’d never realised was there. He knew who she was, the things she did, and unlike Geralt she _did_ enjoy doing them but…he’d known her for so long, it was difficult not to share something, no matter how strange, between them. Officially they were employer and employee, but it would seem there was leeway on both sides after all.

“Thank you, Yen.” He said, genuinely from the heart, “Although I feel I should apologise to you as well, it seems I didn’t know you as well as I thought.”

With a swish of her dress Yennefer turned to head back to her chair, having enough of how this entire conversation was making her feel and act, “Oh? Why’s that? Thought I might shoot you for it?”

Geralt raised an eyebrow, “Well you did pretty much suggest that when I phoned you about the warehouse.”

Yennefer just waved him off as she sat down, “I was angry, I didn’t mean it, not with you. And _anyway_ ,” she suddenly fixed him with yet another glare, “had you really thought this whole time that I didn’t…” she pursed her lips together, as if what she was about to say was going to cause her great pain, “ _care_ for you? I did buy you a fourteen million pound _penthouse_! I’ve not done _that_ for anyone else! Neither did I call you back after you got attacked last week, and yes I _do_ know about that, I also knew that you’d be fine…mainly because you have that little _singer thing_ looking after you.”

Geralt gave her a pointed, amused look, “ _Singer thing_?”

“Does he know about me by the way? About the things you’ve done?” she suddenly asked.

For a moment Geralt caught her gaze, and the air grew tense in a matter of seconds. There was silence as he tried to gauge exactly what was going through her mind.

“Would you have him killed if he did?” he asked cautiously, voice low, not giving anything away.

Yennefer raised a fascinated eyebrow at the dark tone that was said in, especially directed at her, but then let a small smirk grow on her lips, “Because I trust you Geralt, and _only_ because I trust you, I will trust him. But if he does _one_ single thing to comprise anythi-“

“He won’t. He’s not stupid.”

Yennefer gazed at him a little longer, looking over the man she had once pictured having a life with, even though she knew he would never be happy.

“If he’s not running,” she began softly, “then I’m happy for you.”

It was said surprisingly sincerely. Geralt really did not know her at all, even after all this time. She was ruthless, power hungry, always got what she wanted, but never had he realised he’d somehow crawled in through a crack in her stone heart. It wasn’t enough for her to put him first, she was after all a selfish woman by her own admission, knowing she was hurting Geralt by making him kill but not once stopping in her orders to do so. But still, there was something about her like this, seeing her ever so slightly vulnerable, being honest, that made him realise that considering where he came from and what he could have ended up as, he could have actually done a lot worse.

Yennefer then sighed, now annoyed, “Alright now get out, all this sentimentally is making my skin crawl.”

Geralt nodded, smiling softly again, “Thank you.” He said one more time, “I mean it Yen…thank you for doing this for me.”

She just gave him a fleeting smile in return, waving him off, not wanting this awkwardness to last any longer. As he turned to leave, Yennefer had to admit, if only to herself, that she missed waking up in his arms. She did dream of becoming special to someone one day, and perhaps she didn’t realise what she had until it was gone. More likely that one day, when she was a little older, a little less angry, that she’d find herself craving affection, and be able to return it to someone else. To care for someone.

For now though, she’d have to find her passing pleasures in the arms of random others, when she had time. Right now however she needed to go to her dressmakers. She had a wedding to get measured up for, and she’d never live it down if she turned up at the Cintra estate next month in any old dress.

* * *

Geralt couldn’t describe what he was feeling, mainly because he was sure he had never felt it before in his entire life. _Elated_ , perhaps? _Overjoyed_? Whatever it was, it was making him fight back the biggest grin. Not just a smile, but an actual grin, and it kept tugging at his lips, flickering upwards before Geralt would pull it back again. 

He didn’t know why he was trying to stop it, probably because it just wasn’t like him, but even if it was struggling to get through on his lips the grin was in his eyes. They were big and bright and looking at the world around him like he’d never seen it before. To him, right now, happy people were everywhere. He walked down the busy London street where it was still raining, umbrellas popping up from those walking out of shops, and in his mind every one of them felt as ridiculously wonderful as he did.

He was sure he must have looked insane if anyone around him looked to him, but he didn’t give a shit at all. He was happy. Actually happy, and that grin was slowly winning. Everything with Yennefer had gone perfectly, he couldn’t believe how smoothly it all went. Had he walked into a different universe somewhere between home and her office? It didn’t seem real, he really had misjudged her all these years.

When it came to emotions she was even more of an enigma than Geralt was. She’d grown up in the crime world, just like he had, although in a much more pampered lifestyle. When her parents had died when she was 19 she took over. Even at that age she was ruthless and knew exactly how to handle the criminals in her employment and the ones she dealt with outside it. She knew what she wanted, when she wanted it, how she wanted it, and yet… Geralt had somehow crawled into that crack in her heart. Not entirely making his way though, for she had not been prepared to widen that crack when they had been together, but he’d made it further in than any other that was for sure.

And Geralt had never been happier about her stone heart than now.

If she had opened up more, he would have been pulled into her world even deeper, all because of the small amount of affection she would have shown him and that he was desperate for. Now knowing his experiences with Jaskier he knew he would have leant towards that touch and done _anything_ for her. He’d still be killing people, still be trapped with her in the dark. He’d be far worse off had she returned that small bit of affection he’d tried to show her every now and then.

As it happened, she hadn’t, but also as it happened, she still cared enough about him to let him be who he wanted, be _with_ who he wanted, and Geralt had never felt more free in his life. The now full grin on his face made him feel utterly bizarre, so utterly not like himself, but then that was the clincher wasn’t it? This wasn’t himself. This was someone new, someone finding happiness for the first time.

He was now the furthest away from the underworld he’d ever gotten before. Oh he’d guard Yennefer, would still have people to hurt no doubt, especially as she seemed to have become a target of late, and he didn’t doubt for a moment he’d be dealing with more of Cahir and his men at some point, but just _knowing_ he wouldn’t be ordered to kill…oh he felt so…yes it _was_ elated. Elated and happy and _free_. Not truly free perhaps, but more than he had ever been before. It was like there was finally a light at the end of the long dark tunnel he’d always been travelling down, and the light was coming from Jaskier.

None of this would have happened without him. How could one man change his life so significantly and so quickly? How could one man give him everything he had ever wanted in such a short space of time? How could one man make him feel like he would pluck the moon from the sky for him if he asked, just to make him smile?

Thinking of Jaskier made his heart swell with hope and devotion. He wanted to wrap Jaskier in his arms and never ever let him go, wanted to feel that sweet breath against his neck and that sweet laugh in his ears for the rest of time. Jaskier really was a noisy angel that had been sent his way, constantly chattering to keep the dark thoughts at bay, and loving him with all his strength to keep Geralt wrapped up in warmth and intimacy and understanding. Geralt knew without question, that his heart was safe with Jaskier.

Gods…and Jaskier was right. He did love him. Completely and passionately and with all the innocent excitement of a man who had never felt any of those things before. The grin on his face was because of Jaskier. Everything that had happened was because of Jaskier. His life had done an almost 180 degree turn in less than two weeks all because of Jaskier.

Geralt began to run home. It wasn’t far, by the time he’d fought past the crowds to get onto the underground it’d be quicker to just run. As he got to the huge tall building he called home he saw Jaskier waiting for him by the glass doors at the front. When the singer saw him, he came running up to him into the rain with a scowl.

“ _Geralt_!! Why didn’t you phone me?! I’ve been up there worrying myself silly that she’d done something to you and it had all gone wrong an-“

Geralt swept him into his arms, effectively cutting him off, and kissed him so heatedly and fiercely Jaskier could do nothing but let out a small surprised _mpfff_ as his lips were attacked, and then just stand there and _melt_ as he let himself be devoured. Geralt had his arms wrapped right around him, clutching to him so tightly, keeping him pulled in hard against his chest. He poured every ounce of his new happiness into the kiss, every ounce of these new and wonderful feelings he’d never had before, all courtesy of Jaskier. He wanted to give him everything that Jaskier had given him. He didn’t know if he could, this was all going to be so brand new, he didn’t know how to be in a proper relationship or how to romance someone or care for them as they needed, but gods he was going to try his very damn best. 

Because he knew now without a doubt, without one single doubt, what Jaskier made him feel.

He ravished those lips, so hungry for everything that Jaskier was, but as the kiss slowed and he gently released them, Jaskier just stood leaning entirely against him like a floppy jellyfish, having lost the ability to stand. His blue eyes were dark and dazed when he opened them rather uncoordinatedly.

“Wha…what was that for?” he breathed, an equally dazed grin on his now very well kissed lips.

Geralt just hugged him tightly again, burying his face into his hair, one hand cradling the back of his head, and finally found the voice to tell him exactly what he was feeling.

“I love you Jaskier.” He breathed deeply, surrounded by the warmth and scent of the one man who had broken down every single one of the barriers Geralt had built up since childhood. 

Saying it aloud made it feel as though his entire body was tingling with joy, that there was a long-lost innocent part of him buried deep inside that was screaming in pleasure, in relief, the words _about fucking time_ soaring through his soul. He’d never pictured himself with a soul, he was always as dammed as the rest of his kind, but Jaskier had given him one. Jaskier had seen the empty space inside him and had gone, _yeah, that’s mine,_ and then just filled it with everything that he was. Geralt belonged to him, body and soul and heart, he knew it. He loved him. So much. And it was terrifying and brilliant and overwhelming and pure.

“Geralt…” Jaskier’s voice was soft and surprised and so full of love at hearing Geralt say those words, and Geralt squeezed him even tighter at the sound, especially at the feel of Jaskier gently wrapping his arms around his waist.

“I would never have done this without you.” Geralt continued, “Yen said yes to my request, she’s not going to make me kill anymore, and she’s not going to hurt you for knowing. I never thought I’d ever see a day so close to having a normal life, and it’s all thanks to you.” He kissed Jaskier’s head, his hair soft against his lips, and Jaskier sighed happily in his arms.

“Oh Geralt, I’m _so_ happy to hear that.” He then leant back to look at Geralt’s face, though Geralt was reluctant in loosening his grip, “And I _told_ you you loved me you big oaf. You should listen to me more often.” He grinned, that usual cheeky little grin, and Geralt could feel this new, soppy sentimental side of himself just melt at the sight.

He was so far gone.

Without a warning Geralt suddenly bent and hooked his arm under Jaskier’s legs, swinging them up and round carrying him bridal style, Jaskier letting out a sudden laugh and holding onto him around his neck.

“I am going to make love to you for the rest of the day.” Geralt said, almost sternly, and Jaskier just grinned again.

“Oooo, so serious, and I haven’t had lunch yet.” Jaskier playfully complained, but Geralt just let a small grin of his own reach his lips, and he growled possessively as he looked to those mischievous blue eyes.

“Too bad, I’m only _hungry_ for one thing.”

A burst of bubbling laughter erupted from Jaskier as he let himself be carried back into the building, “I can’t believe you just said that!” He continued to laugh, the sound so joyful and warm, before he leant up and kissed him on the cheek, lingering there for a moment, soft lips against slightly stubbled cheek, “But I’m very glad you did.” He added, voice a little deeper, for despite his amusement that corny line had fed right to his cock at the promise it held.

* * *

A newly admitted in love Geralt was possessive, awkward, and fucking adorable. And hot. Did Jaskier mention hot? Very hot. So fucking hot. Dear _gods_ hot. It was like a switch had been flipped on in Geralt’s brain and suddenly everything Jaskier had wished he would do during sex suddenly came to life, mainly him being more vocal.

Geralt started to whisper words against Jaskier’s skin as he damn well worshipped him, again, and after being worshipped this morning so thoroughly Jaskier didn’t know how it could possibly have felt any better, but boy was he proved wrong. Hearing Geralt growl _mine_ so possessively against his skin, over and over again, along with _Jaskier_ and _beautiful_ , an adorable _I’m yours,_ and a quietly mumbled barely audible _I love you_ , oh Jaskier was tingling all over at every word and could feel his own moans escaping between his lips at them all. He _wanted_ to hear Geralt’s voice, it was such a rare and precious thing and perhaps now, finally, Geralt was finding that voice as he loved him so unselfishly.

And he really was an unselfish and incredibly generous lover, Jaskier hadn’t been exaggerating when he’d called him that before. Finding someone who loved him appeared to bring out this gentle utterly adoring side of Geralt that blew Jaskier’s mind, for when anyone would look at Geralt you wouldn’t think him capable. Jaskier had always had fun with sex no matter who it was with, but not one person had treated him the way Geralt did. No one made his heart sing, his limbs tremble, his mind blank with want as Geralt made sure every inch of him was just as treasured as the next. From his forehead to his toes Jaskier was _drowning_ in love.

Geralt had meant it when he said he’d make love to him all day, and he gave Jaskier exactly what he wanted in every aspect. Even when Jaskier wanted more, wanted it _rough_ , wanted it _feral_ , wanted Geralt to use those huge muscles of his to put Jaskier in any position Geralt wanted him in and to just _fuck_ him, _use_ him, _take_ him gods _please_ , for as wonderful as all this sweet love was Jaskier wanted to be _taken_.

And being as generous as he was, Geralt gave him what he wanted.

Jaskier’s kink for danger, or at least being rescued from it, made him _love_ it when Geralt threw his strength around, pinning him down, forcing him where he wanted or forcing him still. To feel helpless but safe, defenceless but loved, oh Jaskier enjoyed nothing more than to feel trapped beneath those scarred muscles and know he was going to orgasm so hard at the end. At first Geralt was cautious, he didn’t know his own strength when it came to games like this and he didn’t want to hurt him, and the fact he looked so genuinely concerned made Jaskier love him even more. His heart would swell with love as he’d chuckle adorably at him and kiss him, assuring him this is what he wanted, and that it wasn’t possible for Geralt to hurt him.

Such sincerity and trust had Geralt’s entire body responding to him eagerly, and although done cautiously at first, Jaskier almost getting to the point of annoyance with; “Geralt I’m fine _please_ just _fuck me!”,_ it wasn’t long before the encouraging grunts and groans from Jaskier had Geralt getting into this little fantasy, and certainly getting into Jaskier.

Jaskier was relishing every moment, feeling Geralt’s huge cock pounding inside him with domineering thrusts as he was forcefully held down, hands pinned above his head or to his sides, or his legs forced apart and held there, Geralt not releasing him no matter how much he squirmed, fucking him hard and never ending. Jaskier’s favourite was when he was being fucked from behind, and suddenly one of Geralt’s large hands gripped his hair at the back of his head and forced his head down, shoving him face down onto the pillow as his other hand spread one of Jaskier’s arse cheeks. When he did that Jaskier was close to coming already at just the thought of the view Geralt was giving himself, and the fact it made Geralt's cock sink in even deeper, that gorgeous sexual sound of his cheeks slapping against Geralt’s thighs, repeatedly and unashamedly loudly.

Oh fuck Jaskier was moaning like it was the only sound he’d ever learnt to make.

And then, just as Jaskier thought it couldn’t possibly get any better, Geralt suddenly released his hair and instead wrapped his hand around his throat, bringing Jaskier’s body up to an upright kneeling position and keeping his arse just where it was, being used and fucked exactly like it wanted.

Jaskier thought he might die of happiness when he heard Geralt snarl possessively in his ear, “You want this?” he said as he drove up into him hard, making Jaskier moan out loudly and violently, Geralt’s hand tightly grasping his chin keeping his head pulled back against Geralt’s shoulder.

“ _Yeeesss_.” Jaskier groaned so shamelessly.

Geralt continued to thrust up into him, the head of his cock almost showing each time before plunging back up inside. It was so deep, so fucking hot, and Jaskier was almost choking at how good it felt.

“You wanna be fucked like this?” As he fucked him Geralt now moved his other hand to grasp at Jaskier’s cock, not to stroke it, but to hold it tight, grip it at the base to stop his building orgasm. Jaskier just bodily shuddered.

“ _Uhhnnnnnnn yeeeeeeesssss.”_

The hand holding Jaskier’s chin slipped two fingers into his mouth. Jaskier let out a long moan around them, using his warm, wet tongue to suck on them, slide it between them, all the time still moaning and grunting deliciously desperately, saliva running down his chin as he was fucked mercilessly still kneeling upright.

Jaskier knew he’d never come as hard as he did at the end of that. When Geralt allowed him to come, finally pumping his red, aching cock, Jaskier’s entire body spasmed against Geralt’s completely uncontrollably. Geralt wrapped his arms so tightly around him, keeping him steady and riding his own orgasm out with him as Jaskier screamed and arched his back and shot his load high and far across the bed.

Jaskier was sure he’d passed out again, for when he opened his eyes he was cuddled against Geralt’s chest. Geralt was stroking small, gentle patterns down his arm, watching him come around, and Jaskier could swear those golden eyes were sparkling like pure sunlight. He had never felt more loved and safer in his entire life.

So now, much to Jaskier’s blissful delight, it seemed Geralt had found his voice not just for love but for a bit of dirty talk too, which would only get dirtier with time if Jaskier had any say in it. Which he did. A lot. He was going to get Geralt to tell him he was his filthy little whore at some point, he’d make sure of it, and the thought made him giggle delightfully to himself.

And now after all of that, surely, _surely_ now there was nothing else that could make him love him even more?

But there was.

They didn’t do all of this in one setting, it really did take the rest of the day. Geralt would make his little lark come several times before letting him rest, still touching him all over, enjoying the little _mmm’s_ of exhausted pleasure that still fell from those sweet lips. He’d care for him, clean him, make sure he was okay and well rested, before Geralt would whisper against his lips, “I can’t keep my hands off you”, and then start all over again. Jaskier vaguely wondered somewhere in the back of his mind, in a part that was still a respectable human being and not just the pampered spoilt love slave he’d become, that he never knew in a million years that he’d find someone so perfect as Geralt.

Geralt had said during one of these resting care periods, “I’m not…good…with words. I hope I can…I mean I’ve never…been with anyone like this before, in a… real relationship, and I want you to…to be hap-” but Geralt didn’t need to finish. Jaskier had put a finger over his mouth with an adoring smile.

“Just be you Geralt.” he’d said softly, replacing his fingers with his own lips for a soft, sweet kiss, lingering against the ones that found it so hard to voice what they wanted, though they were learning. “That’s who I want. Be you and I’ll be happy.”

Geralt ravished him for hours, coming many times himself and that was something for him, which meant Jaskier really had become nothing but a trembling mass of limbs and oversensitive nerves. Having come so much there just wasn’t anything left to come out, but that didn’t stop his orgasms still ripping through him, his entire body convulsing and twitching, euphoric tears leaking from his eyes and he’d dig his fingernails so hard into Geralt’s skin that fresh blood trickled from each wound. Jaskier couldn’t remember what normal light looked like anymore, for all he could see for hours was blinding flashing stars behind his eyelids.

By the end they were each covered with love bites, covered with sweat and semen and neither of them knowing whose was whose. Even Geralt with all his ridiculous stamina could move no more, that solid muscled form lying spent and panting and exhausted, Jaskier next to him, barely conscious in his case. They didn’t know how long they’d stayed there, but surprisingly it was Jaskier that somehow, _somehow_ managed to drag his boneless body out of the bed, pulling at Geralt’s arm.

“Bath.” Is all he said, for the stench of sex suffocated the room, but gods it was glorious.

They both staggered down the hall, holding onto each other, both looking very much like they were drunk, though the large amount of white leaking down Jaskier’s thighs was a big hint that wasn’t why he was staggering. Eventually they finally collapsed into Geralt’s huge jacuzzi sized bath, filled to the top with bubbles when much to Jaskier’s amusement he found a lavender and lemon bubble bath under the sink. They spent an age cleaning each other, Geralt hissing with surprised pain as the bubble bath got into the fingernail cuts on his back.

“Sorry.” Jaskier said with a sheepish grin, but Geralt just kissed it away.

“Never apologise for that.”

When they were done it was time just to relax, so Geralt sat where he’d sat before, and this time Jaskier sat between his legs on a lower step, back to Geralt’s chest as he sank down against him, up to his neck in bubbles and wrapping Geralt’s arms around him, his own arms resting on top.

“I just don’t get it.” Jaskier said softly after a while, the hot scented water melting away their aching limbs.

“Get what?” Geralt said sleepily, having had his eyes closed and resting his chin against the top of Jaskier’s head.

Jaskier brought Geralt’s hand out from under the water, and placed a sweet little kiss against his knuckles, before snuggling further against him and closing his eyes, head turned slightly against his chest, “How anyone could ever be afraid of you.”

Geralt opened his eyes slowly. Jaskier was beginning to have a habit of saying the simplest things that meant the world to Geralt.

“Well…not exactly many of those people get to see me like this.” He offered as an explanation, and Jaskier giggled in his arms.

“I should hope not. Your Adonis of a body belongs to me now. Right?”

“Hmmm.” Geralt smiled, pressing his lips to hair.

“By the way…” Jaskier added quietly, running his hand down Geralt’s arm under the water with a tiny sly grin, “we’re going to buy rope for you to tie me up with.”

Behind him Geralt just raised an eyebrow, and when he didn’t reply Jaskier frowned, curious, and turned around where he sat, sitting up on one of Geralt’s knees instead. He looked at him, watched those golden eyes that seemed to be trying not to give anything away. 

It then hit Jaskier that he was trying to hide something.

“…you already have rope, don’t you?”

Geralt pursed his lips, trying not to act like he knew Jaskier would love to hear exactly what he was about to say, “It’s in the box under the knives.”

“Oh _fuck me_.” Jaskier moaned loudly.

And suddenly Jaskier was kissing him, arms thrown around his neck, and Geralt actually laughed into the kiss as Jaskier suddenly slipped on his knee in his hurry to get his tongue back into that sinful mouth for how dare it say such glorious things. He fell into the deep water, bringing Geralt with him, bubbles flying everywhere, and Geralt had forgotten the sound of his own laughter. Or had he even heard it before? Had he _ever_ laughed?

He didn’t know nor care, all he knew was that a very slippery Jaskier was trying to kiss him again, hungry and awkwardly, before it all somehow dissolved into a splashing fight. Jaskier constantly started splashing him, for the more he splashed the more Geralt laughed, and Jaskier had never heard such a wonderful amazing sound. It was deep, reverberating right up from his chest, and it was filled with such purity. A laugh long forgotten. A laugh having long been needed to be heard.

Geralt tried to get close to him, to grab him, but Jaskier was slippery with soapy water and kept sliding out from his grasp, Jaskier laughing his head off. Eventually Geralt managed to pounce on him across the large bath and grab his wrists, pinning them to his sides as he crashed their lips together.

It was all so childish, so innocent, so beautiful, although as he kissed him he could feel Jaskier’s cock pressing against him. Geralt rose an eyebrow and broke the kiss.

“Really? You’re rather insatiable, aren’t you?”

“You’re only just realising that _now_?” Jaskier teased with a bite of his bottom lip and a grin.

Geralt gazed at him so fondly, a smile so full of adoration on his lips.

How had he lived for so long without love?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> They're in luuuuuuurve <3<3


	10. “You’re at my mercy Geralt.”

And so began the charming, domesticated, very loving and sex-filled life of the new-to-love bodyguard and the flirty little folk singer who was about to be murdered by his agent if he didn’t get back to the studio and start recording some songs for the album he was contracted to actually make some time this _century_!! There was now also a back log of photoshoots and interviews that had all been postponed because of his little ‘personal issue’, but enough was enough, he needed to get back to work _now_! Or so his agent had screamed at him down the phone.

“Does she normally treat you like that?” Geralt had asked, sounding very overly protective.

Jaskier had noticed, and smiled smugly, “No, but there was a deadline coming up when you got shot so she’s very stressed. I should probably be extremely stressed as well, but hey,” Jaskier shrugged, “when your boyfriend is lying in a pool of his own blood one tends to not fret about these things.”

It was only when he got into the studio did the realisation of just how little time he had left to do anything actually began to sink in. As did the stress. Oh he’d try to play it off, try to grin and bare it, that he was his usual happy-go-lucky self, and he did try, but there were days when it was hard and Geralt could see it.

The release of a new album brought a lot of promotion with it, and it seemed everyone wanted a piece of Julian Pankratz. If he wasn’t practically locked in the studio recording over and over again he was interviewing, tv, radio, magazines, there were photoshoots, some fairly normally, some very weird, pampered day and night by makeup artists and wardrobe artists and photographers directing him where to stand and how to look. They still had song videos to shoot, which meant more makeup and clothes and directors and being driven to locations with even more stressful people and _fuck_ it felt like he was being grabbed and tugged all over the place, and only when he got home, home with Geralt, could he actually relax. Though his agent still badgered him with phone calls, ensuring he knew what time and what day to be at what place and _oh_ , Geralt could see how tired he was, the early mornings and late evenings didn’t leave much time for them to be together, and the dark circles were beginning to show.

“Don’t worry,” Jaskier had tried to reassure him with a yawn, “it won’t be long before the album is released, it’ll all be over soon.” 

“You should have told me this was going on,” Geralt had said, feeling guilty about the week Jaskier had taken care of him after he’d been shot, Jaskier putting his life on hold to do so, “if I’d known it was going to cause you this much stress-“

“-you probably would have thrown me out again for my own good.” Jaskier stated with a knowing smirk, “and as I’ve managed to get you out of that habit I’m not risking you relapsing.”

Geralt wanted to retort that he wouldn’t have, but…yeah, he probably would have.

So instead Geralt tried to repay Jaskier’s week of care with his own care, making him as relaxed as he could in the time they had together. Turned out those strong hands of his made for extremely good massages, and Jaskier had blissfully fallen asleep on several occasions as they worked through the tension in his back.

With Jaskier being Jaskier though, no matter how tired he was he was always on the game for a bit of flirting.

“Lower.” He said, as Geralt had just begun working on his shoulder blades, so Geralt obediently moved a little lower. He wanted to help Jaskier in any way he could after all, so wherever he needed it. “No, lower.” Geralt moved down to his middle back, his fingers massaging firmly into the skin spattered with little freckles, “ _Mmmm_ , yeah…lower…” Geralt tilted his head, but moved again anyway, fingertips pressing into the soft flesh just above the hips, “Oh that’s _goooood_ ,” Geralt raised an eyebrow now. Was Jaskier _aware_ he was making those sorts of sounds? “ _Mmm_ , just a bit lower…”

“Jaskier.” Geralt stated with a fond, exasperated look, pausing in his work, “Any lower I’m going to be rubbing your arse.”

Geralt could hear the grin in his voice even if he couldn’t see it, what with Jaskier resting his head in his arms, “Mmmmmmm…... _loooweeeer_ …” Jaskier teased, his voice itself low and sexual.

Geralt surveyed the cheeky, naked and still stressed body beneath him (if the knots he’d felt in his muscles as he’d moved down were anything to go by), and without even thinking Geralt swiftly but gently slapped him on the arse. Jaskier yelped, not in pain but surprise, and Geralt paused again with a look of dread when he realised what he’d done. It was supposed to be playful telling off, a _lay still and let me work you idiot_ , a _now is not the time for games_ , but Geralt knew his immediate mistake, because he knew Jaskier.

“Jaskier, lay back down.” He was using his commanding, authoritative voice, which as it happened did the exact opposite of what he hoped.

Jaskier was already turning over, looking up at Geralt with a mixture of shock and an almost deranged looking grin.

“Oohhhh ho ho _hooo_ I see! Is this a new little kink coming out here?” Jaskier was sliding off the bed, and although the only one of them naked he looked so much like the predator, Geralt backing away though with a wary smile on his face.

“Jaskier, _lay_ back down,” he felt like he was talking to a dog, “you need to relax.”

“Oh there are plenty of other ways to _relax_ my dear bodyguard.”

Then with a lick of his lips Jaskier was on him, tongue in his mouth and gripping his wrists and bringing them round behind himself, ensuring Geralt took a good handful of each butt cheek, “Slap me again,” Jaskier commanded equally as authoritatively as he moaned against his lips, “make me yours I’ve been a bad boy.”

Geralt couldn’t help the overly amused snort of laughter into the kiss, and he broke it, “Sorry. I’m not used to doing things like this.” He said honestly, still staring at him so fondly, the horny little lark that he was.

“ _Get_ used to it.” Jaskier ordered with a grin, before dragging his amused if rather curiously turned on lover back to the bed.

That night had Jaskier’s bottom getting very red and stinging nicely, but it was also lovingly kissed and smoothed over with rough, caring hands too.

Oh how Jaskier adored both.

That was part of the joy of a new relationship, finding out what things turned you on, although in Jaskier’s case it would be quicker to find out what things _didn’t_ turn him on. One thing they could certainly add to the list of things that did was Geralt working out. Sometimes Jaskier had come home (Geralt had given him the code for the main entrance and his spare key, and Jaskier had grinned so much), to find Geralt in his private gym. Now Geralt’s arm was healed enough he had gone back to working out, catching up on the lazy week he’d had, and sometimes Jaskier would just silently watch him from the door, not letting him know he was there. 

He never knew that one could literally actually drool at the sight of someone until he watched those muscles bulge as Geralt worked out. Seeing the strength of his hips and thighs, the weights he was lifting on those huge arms of his, body glistening, long grunts and groans escaping him as pushed himself to his limits… _GUH!_ Jaskier could feel his own pupils dilate and would literally have to swallow away his saliva before he could talk.

Once, when he’d walked in to see Geralt just doing some simple push ups, although making them look so easy as if his entire body was just made of air, he’d silently crept up on him and draped himself over Geralt’s back, completely lying on top of him.

“I bet you can still do that with me on top.” He’d said, voice already heavy with want at just the thought, and Geralt had smirked to himself and began to move. 

Up down up down, smoothly and consistently, and still so easily as though Jaskier weighed nothing more than a feather. Geralt had felt Jaskier’s cock poking into the cleft of his arse, and he’d let out a low chuckle. He soon had his little singer on his back on the mat beneath him, panting and moaning and clasping onto those huge muscles as Geralt turned Jaskier into his own personal and very noisy piece of gym equipment.

Sex was obviously a very good stress reliever, and sometimes Jaskier came home and just fell into his arms, begging to have his brains fucked out as the best way of relaxation. Once he even came home and just exclaimed dramatically as he walked through the door, “Eurgh, just take me now!”

Geralt had, of all things, been vacuuming at the time, but Jaskier had said it so loudly he heard him quite easily over the top. He’d blinked at him and turned off the vacuum.

“Okay.” He’d stated, as if they’d been talking about the weather, and soon had Jaskier bent over the counter top on the kitchen island, Jaskier’s first load of cum already dripping down the lower cupboard as Geralt fucked him hard. Once again it only served to harden Jaskier’s cock more as Geralt grabbed his hair and pulled so his face was forced to look up, groaning loudly when he felt Geralt’s other hand hook around one of Jaskier’s knees and hitch it up onto the counter top, exposing his entrance even more and allowing Geralt’s cock to sink in deeper as he was pounded into.

 _God_ Jaskier loved this position, and he couldn’t help the slightly delirious grin after a sharp gasp when Geralt slapped his arse. It made Jaskier’s cock jump. It was not a tentative strike either, he’d got right on there, leaving a red hand print on that white little bottom. Geralt was getting into it, getting into exploring what they each liked.

 _God_ Jaskier loved him.

Sometimes though it didn’t need to be sex. Sometimes it was all so much softer. Sometimes Geralt would just take him in his arms and kiss him gently, deeply, letting the stress melt away, feeling Jaskier relax in his arms. He’d wine and dine him, adore him, and Jaskier would fall asleep curled up next to him on the sofa where they’d been watching a thunder storm through the huge windows, lightening decorating the sky as the rain beat heavily against the panes.

As much as Geralt loved fucking him it was times like this that really proved to him just how much Jaskier loved him, trusted him, knew he was safe with him. To just fall asleep so peacefully against the Butcher of Blaviken, chest rising slowly, hand curled against Geralt’s thigh…drooling, onto his shoulder…Geralt would chuckle quietly so as not to wake him, pressing a kiss to his hair as he continued to watch the storm in silence and darkness, just feeling content at Jaskier’s closeness.

Geralt had dusted off the television that sat opposite a second white sofa further into the living room, and they’d also cuddled together on that as Jaskier tried to introduce him to the various programs he was into. Geralt tried, he really did, but he’d not grown up with television, was hardly part of his life style, and really wasn’t into much of anything Jaskier was showing him. Just like in his private cinema Geralt only had eyes for Jaskier, and he was more than content to hold him and nuzzle him as Jaskier got lost in the storytelling. That was his thing after all, stories, Jaskier was drawn to them.

Other times all Jaskier wanted to do was just be near Geralt, to treat him softly and sweetly like Geralt had been doing so much to him. It didn’t have to lead to anything sordid, sometimes he just liked to hold Geralt’s head to his chest where they sat. To embrace him, cuddle him, press sweet kisses to his cheeks and jaw and watch the adorable blush deepen on his muscle mans face. Seeing Geralt soft and tamed had a weird, relaxing affect on Jaskier, and he’d just pet his long hair, running it slowly through his fingers, whispering how much he loved him and how good Geralt was to him. Jaskier could feel Geralt leaning towards him, closer, keener, _yearning_ for every word and touch that came his way having never had any of it before in his life. Sometimes Geralt swore he felt drunk around Jaskier, light headed and unfocused, lost in a happy dream world.

Once Jaskier could have sworn he heard Geralt purring. Did humans purr? Geralt certainly seemed to, and Jaskier had to bite back his squeal of adored delight as he’d stroked down his hair as Geralt lay against his chest, eyes closed. He wasn’t asleep, as he’d do that adorable nuzzling against his chest every now and then, but there was definitely some kind of loveable purring rumbling coming up from within him. Oh Jaskier so wanted to delightfully tease him but he didn’t want him to stop.

The second time he did it though Jaskier had his phone on him and recorded it. When he’d shown Geralt later on he’d never laughed so much at Geralt’s fumbling attempts to firmly deny that he was NOT purring, his face the brightest red Jaskier had seen it yet.

Jaskier had a good strong suspicion after that, that although they both knew (and Geralt learning more so every day) that Jaskier was a dirty little slut in bed with a kink for danger, Geralt it seemed may have a kink for praise. Jaskier wouldn’t mention it, not yet, but he was going to try a few more phrases. A few more praises. See if this purring and nuzzling and definite hardening of cock continued. He could see it straining against Geralt’s trousers, although Geralt never tried anything, it seemed he just wanted to bask in those heavenly words and gentle touches.

Sometimes however, the relaxation most _definitely_ called for sex, especially when Jaskier walked in the door still wearing the clothes and makeup that had been put on him for a photoshoot. Geralt didn’t know what the theme of this particular shoot was but it must have been something along the lines of _sexed up and roughed up,_ because fucking _Christ_ Geralt took one look at him and there was no blood left in his entire body but in his cock.

Jaskier had walked in, chattering away about the shoot and laughing about the looks he’d gotten on the way home, and Geralt had just _stared_. Those pretty baby blues were surrounded by thick black charcoal all the way around, deliberately smudged around the edges. He had hair extensions in, not hugely long ones, but enough to make his hair look shaggy and messy as though he’d just had the life fucked out of him. His lips were glossy, his clothes dark and tight, definitely leather trousers. The deep dark red shirt he wore had the sleeves rolled up to his elbows, and was artistically ripped down the front, buttons missing, showing off half his chest and the dark curls beneath. There was a necklace on a long chain that hung there, one single musical note with an arrow piercing through it. There were many rings on his fingers, and what must have been fake earrings, for there was at least six of them on each ear, running down the shell, little red sparking studs and black hoops, half hidden amongst the extensions.

Jaskier had barely looked up at Geralt as he’d walked in before the rest of those buttons were suddenly being ripped off him and he was being picked up and thrown roughly onto the sofa, where Geralt proceeded to ravish that sinful looking body senseless.

Or at least, that had been the plan.

Somehow though Jaskier was taking control. Maybe because Geralt couldn’t stop staring at him, looking the way he did. Maybe it was when his breath caught in his throat as Jaskier practically did a strip tease in front of him as he took off that curve-hugging leather, revealing inch by inch every section of lovely leg.

Whatever the reason Geralt barely even registered when Jaskier took off that leather and then proceeded to use it to tie Geralt’s hands behind his back. He didn’t even try to stop him, didn’t even question it, just tilted in his head, watching him so close as Jaskier straddled him and pressed himself to him to reach round. There was also this suspicious little smirk on Jaskier’s lips the whole time, even when Jaskier went down on him, Geralt’s cock halfway down his throat, those blue eyes sparkling with mischief from the middle of the darkness that surrounded them.

In fact he still had that air of smugness about him as he rode Geralt where the wolf sat on the sofa, still wearing the tattered remains of his red shirt, Geralt still tied up and leaving Jaskier entirely in charge. Oh Geralt could probably easily have gotten out of them if he tried, but that wasn’t the point, and there was this strange…not _un-pleasant_ feeling, stirring inside him at being the ‘helpless’ one. 

He’d had that feeling once before, when they’d fucked after Geralt rescued Jaskier from that mugger, when Jaskier had told him quite commandingly to sit up against the headboard. It had happened a second time when Jaskier had commanded him to slap him his arse, forcing his hands there to hold those delightfully squidgy cheeks.

It was only those few times Jaskier had ordered him in that forceful voice to do anything, and as simple as each was he remembered his cock jumping at the words each time. Perhaps there was a part of him that wanted Jaskier in charge…whatever that may lead to mean…

And Geralt now realised that smirk had meant the sneaky little love machine knew exactly what he’d been doing. That not unpleasant feeling was returning again, because with his hands behind his back he knew that Jaskier knew he was totally in charge, and was taking advantage of driving Geralt wild with it.

“You want to touch me don’t you?” Jaskier purred against his lips, slowing in his bouncing rhythm where he sat astride him, Geralt’s cock buried so far up his arse where he stilled, just curling his hips ever so slightly to keep the pressure building, “You want to touch me and I’m not letting you.”

Jaskier bit Geralt’s bottom lip, pulling it, and Geralt tried to chase after him with a breathy kiss but Jaskier just pulled back with a cheeky smile. Geralt couldn’t help the low growl of frustrated disappointment, his tied hands itching to touch him. Jaskier then ran his hands slowly over Geralt’s chest, through the fine hairs and over the new and old scars, before hooking his hand around the medallion and grasping the chain tightly, pulling it tighter against his throat, pulling Geralt’s neck towards him making his chin tilt up as he did. He teased him with a brush of his lips.

“You’re at my mercy Geralt.”

The whisper felt like molten lava against Geralt’s lips, and he groaned unashamedly loudly, the most sexual shiver running through his body and ending at his cock, feeling it twitching deeply inside Jaskier at the words. He kept trying to lean forward, to capture those lips, breathy moans releasing as he’d capture them for a just a second before Jaskier would push him back, or lean away, and just _grin_ at how dark Geralt’s eyes were, barely a ring of gold left. He was panting hard.

Geralt felt drunk again, feeling an overpowering feral need to have Jaskier close to him, but he was being denied. Like the bed this sofa faced out towards the windows, and although it was a cloudy night the moon was bright and fighting its way through, giving Jaskier’s already darkly sexed up look an ethereal glow around him where he sat smugly on Geralt’s cock.

He was the hottest thing Geralt had ever seen.

“Jaskier…” Geralt growled almost angrily through gritted teeth, before jerking forward, hoping to catch Jaskier of guard and take those red lips, but Jaskier swiftly moved his head back out of range, still with that irritating smirk.

“Such an eager man.” Jaskier purred, and then began to run his fingertips deeply through Geralt’s hair at the scalp, softly at first, and then suddenly forcing Geralt’s head back, his chin up again, as he gripped that hair tightly in his grasp. Geralt let out another feral growl at the sharp pain in his hair that went straight to his cock. He couldn’t move his arms or his head, could do nothing but stare up into those blue orbs.

“Such a _good, kind_ man you are.” Jaskier said softly, and the simple praise had Geralt’s eyes rolling closed and his mouth moaning the deepest lustful groan.

He didn’t know what was wrong with him. Everything Jaskier was saying and doing was turning him on _so_ much. His cock was _aching_ inside him. He could do nothing but let shivers run through his body as Jaskier’s hands now ran further down his scalp, tipping his head back even further. He was now at the perfect angle for Jaskier to finally ravish those impatient lips, gripping that white hair tight keeping Geralt bound and still as he fucked him with his mouth, tongue well and truly in charge. He began to fuck his cock as well, finally raising his hips and fucking down onto him, moaning desperately against his lips at each time he sank down onto him, taking him in so deep and tight at every turn, keeping Geralt completely under his control.

Fuck it was hot.

It ended up in a frantic fucking frenzy as Jaskier still refused to let Geralt’s mouth go, swallowing both their moans and pants and the occasional swear that would escape, before they were both coming so hard together, lips still together, Geralt so lost in his own orgasm he couldn’t even open his eyes. They were just squeezed shut tight, his body convulsing upwards trying to get in deeper, fucking up into him as Jaskier let him, Jaskier’s own come already dripping down Geralt’s chest. The moan he let out was so loud it could rival any of Jaskier’s, but that’s just how it was. The more they had sex, the more vocal Geralt became, and now he was just panting wildly, not believing the force of that orgasm, coming down from his high as Jaskier draped himself over him, Geralt’s cock still inside him as they just breathed together, chest to sticky chest.

In amongst those heavy breaths, Geralt whispered, “I love you Jaskier.”

Jaskier grinned against his shoulder, and turned to place a kiss on a red love bite he’d given him earlier at the junction between shoulder and neck, “I love you too, my dearest Geralt.”

Since Geralt had said those words the first time, they didn’t crop up very much. Jaskier wasn’t expecting them too, Geralt being how he was with words, which meant when he did say them it meant the absolute world to Jaskier.

“You knew the reaction I’d have at seeing you like that, didn’t you?” Geralt had said afterwards, both of them now lying in each other’s arms on the large sofa, happily lost in the post-coital bliss of just being together, Geralt stroking his hand up and down Jaskier’s arm.

Jaskier just smirked to himself again, the charcoal around his eyes even more smudged now, his hair in even more of a state, “Of course I did. Why’d you think I asked if I could wear it home?”

“Mmmm.” Geralt said, trying to hold back a tired grin. “How was this look anything to do with your type of music anyway?”

“It’s not……...I think they just wanted to see me dressed up in it.”

“Hm,” Geralt raised an eyebrow and tilted his head in a way that was silently congratulating whoever’s decision that was, “Can’t blame them for that.”

Jaskier was hot and innocent and sexy and sweet and gorgeous and loving and Geralt’s mind was awash in ways to describe him. Beautiful and charming, cheeky and just…just wonderful. He was no word wizard like Jaskier, he just knew he loved every new bit of him he was discovering, and every new intriguing bit he was making him discover about himself too.

Jaskier could still be an annoying little shit, but now it just made Geralt smile.

That wasn’t the first time one of them had been tied up. The rope in the box with the knives had already made an appearance, and Jaskier had literally quivered with excitement as the rope had been wrapped around his chest, his arms behind him, thoroughly bound, and then spent the night being used in any position Geralt had wanted. There was still a part of Geralt that found it very funny that Jaskier was into this, especially when Jaskier started doing his own little roleplay saying in an over the top dramatic speech like manner:

“Oh kind Sir, you have rescued me from being tied up in this dungeon, wouldst thou release me so I may thank you properly with a kiss?”

Geralt just raised an eyebrow, knowing full well being untied was exactly what Jaskier did _not_ want to happen. He let out a deep chuckle, and then crawled over him, pinning him to the bed and whispering hotly against his ear, “Maybe I’ll take my thank you out of your body instead?”

“Oh no _!”_ Jaskier exclaimed in the most unrealistic frightened voice there ever was, “My rescuer has become my captor! Oh I am but a helpless body to be used in any way! Don’t hurt me sweet Sir, I shall do whatever you wish.”

There was a sparkle in his eyes that was saying oh, _hurt me_ sweet sir.

And so these situations continued, the hot sex and sweet new love filling every day, making Geralt wonder sometimes if this wasn’t all a dream. Was he going to wake up one morning to find Jaskier had been nothing but an invention of his own tortured mind? Desperate for the love and attention that he would never get because he never deserved it? Some days he found himself just looking at Jaskier and thinking to himself, how did he get this lucky? How could he feel this happy? Jaskier had to be a dream, because reality for Geralt could never be so perfect. His life from as far back as he could remember was filled with nothing but death and pain and sorrow. Now because of Jaskier he’d almost forgotten all those things.

 _Almost_.

Yennefer had needed him quite a few times, but thankfully most of the time had him home before Jaskier’s busy day. On the occasions he couldn’t be there he’d felt horribly guilty at imagining his tired little lark coming home hoping for some attention only to find an empty penthouse. He did text him when he could, but this wasn’t exactly a normal job and everything was unpredictable. He also had to ensure he wasn’t thinking of Jaskier while on a job. He could feel his own face relaxing into a contented smile whenever he did, and standing next to Yennefer with that look on his face was hardly going to scare anyone around her. He had to focus, bring back the Geralt he was before, ensure his face was one of stone, glaring piercing eyes and focusing on what was going on around them.

Yennefer had been true to her word. There were no more deaths at Geralt’s hands. He’d had to beat a few to a bloody pulp when they’d tried to attack her, one incident being a man who owed her money and who tried instead to take her life to end his own misery of debt. What happened to the man after that was not his business. Yennefer had him taken away.

As soon as his job was over though, and Yennefer was safe, that relaxed contented face would return as he’d walk home. Once, when he knew Jaskier was already home, he stopped as he walked past a wild patch of grass at the side of children’s playing field. His job had taken him to the outskirts of London where there was a little more green, and there at the side was a patch of long-stemmed wild buttercups and dandelions. With the soppiest grin that Jaskier would definitely have teased him about had he seen it, Geralt picked the flowers. When he got home, Jaskier was beautifully reminded at how innocent Geralt’s love was, how new he was to it all, for Geralt had held the flowers out to him, thrusting them out towards Jaskier’s chest like a caveman trying to woe his chosen mate for the first time.

“They’re um…yellow.” Geralt stated awkwardly, having not realised until he was actually giving him the flowers how embarrassed he felt, and even though he didn’t understand why he could feel a heat to his cheeks.

It was just flowers. They were yellow, both their favourite colours. They were buttercups, just like Jaskier’s name meant in his native tongue. These were all good things, so it was a…a good thing, to give him, right? Giving flowers to each other is what happened between two romantically involved people, yes?

He hadn’t noticed at the time but the flowers were hardly the best ones. Quite a few had been chewed by various insects, and even more were wilting from the hot tube journey back home, but Jaskier had taken one look at this overwhelmingly sweet little gesture and had let out the tiniest high-pitched whimper from the back of this throat, before just _pouncing_ on him.

For once, it was Geralt who came more than Jaskier that night, as Jaskier pushed him to his limits and beyond as a reward for being just so damn cute. It had taken a lot of self control from Jaskier himself not to let himself get carried away, that he wanted to please Geralt for as long as possible and not just give in and have him fuck him roughly and wildly. He was very proud of himself actually. And, if he admitted it, once again having Geralt at his mercy was so fucking hot. The noises Geralt made when he really let himself go, oh fuck Jaskier wanted to spend days drawing those noises out.

As Geralt grew more and more confident in exactly what a relationship was and what it involved, there were other small little gestures he’d make. Doing all the domestic things together, like grocery shopping, and he’d catch Jaskier’s hand with his little finger, pulling it in to hold it, and he refused to look but he knew Jaskier would turn to him and smile the sweetest smile, squeezing his hand back. Geralt felt nothing but warmth flowering in his chest at that little squeeze. They’d even gone shopping for curtains together, Jaskier finally at the end of his tether of the damn light coming into their bedroom at five in the morning. Now that Geralt was getting a full nights sleep since being with Jaskier, he had to admit even he was getting annoyed with it.

“We’re not getting plain ones, you need come colour in that penthouse.” Jaskier was saying as he looked through fabrics in the haberdashery they’d walked into. They’d have to have them specially made as they were floor to ceiling windows that ran along the entire length of the wall. “Sooooo, how about this one?”

Geralt stood there feeling entirely out of place with the most dead-pan expression on his face as Jaskier held up the most garish red and purple swirled fabric he’d ever seen.

“No.” he said bluntly.

Jaskier pouted and put it down, holding up a different one, this one with pink stripes, “This one?”

“No.” he repeated in the same voice.

“Alright this one!”

It was checkered boxes of lime green and bright blue.

“ _No_.”

This went gone on for some time, until Jaskier noticed Geralt idly looking at some white fabric that had the smallest little flowers running along the hem, all in different colours. He was only looking at it in boredom, or so he told himself, even if he had picked up that hem to take a closer look. Jaskier took it as a sale. It may be mostly white but there was colour there, and that was as close as he was going to get with Geralt.

“Okay that’s the one you touched it we bought it let’s go.”

Before Geralt could say a word he was suddenly being spun around on the spot, a pile of that fabric in his arms and was being paraded to the counter where they could measure it up. Geralt felt like he should be protesting, but he didn’t, he just let Jaskier give out all the measurements they’d taken earlier and discuss the delivery. Geralt watched him silently, looking back down to the fabric. He supposed it wasn’t…. _too_ bad. The flowers were pretty.

There was a buttercup there.

Underneath his gruff exterior really did lay a true old-fashioned gentleman. Geralt would constantly hold doors open for Jaskier to walk through first, would insist on paying for anything that they bought, from the curtains to the ice cream in Regents Park where they’d spent an afternoon. Jaskier had been beaming arm and arm with him again, finally having at least one afternoon off from work. All they’d done is walk around the park, but it had been so relaxing. The sun was hot in the blue sky above them, there were birds and butterflies everywhere, trees rustling in the warm summer breeze, kids laughing and chasing each other, it was just so…normal.

Geralt was beginning to enjoy normal.

He also let Jaskier lead him wherever he wanted, always let him speak first, though that was probably more just because not speaking is what Geralt did best. Some days Jaskier even compared him to a lost puppy, following its master around and doing whatever was required of him, just because it made him happy. Geralt did that a lot when alone together in the penthouse. Whatever room Jaskier moved into Geralt would be following him, wrapping his arms around him from behind and kissing his shoulder. He may let Jaskier lead, but Jaskier rarely had the chance to be the one to initiate something loving first, for Geralt was always there before him.

It made Jaskier want to squeal with cuteness.

Geralt was putting in 110% effort in being romantic and doing what he thought couples did, and Jaskier swore he fell in love with him more and more as each day passed. This huge body of muscle was nothing more than a loyal puppy, and Jaskier was _adoring_ it.

Geralt still wasn’t entirely comfortable going out with Jaskier in public, and his eyes would be constantly glancing around everywhere watching for people watching them, his bodyguard instincts kicking in, not wanting Jaskier in danger because of who Geralt was. It was made even more difficult by the fact people watched Jaskier anyway because they recognised him. Groups of girls would suddenly erupt as they walked by, giggling madly and whispering to each other. There would be many double takes by strangers, and Geralt had to remember these were members of the public and not would-be assassins when occasionally one would approach them asking Jaskier for an autograph or a photo.

Jaskier had joked to Geralt once that he could literally feel this animalistic aura come off Geralt whenever someone approached them. That he was sure he could hear him growling and sense his fists closing, and then knew he was seconds away from grabbing Jaskier, throwing him over his shoulder and storming away shouting _HE’S MINE_ at the poor innocent bystander. Geralt had told him not to be so ridiculous.

Geralt had told himself to pretend he’d hadn’t thought of doing just that.

Still, Jaskier thrived on people asking him for autographs, no matter who they were, young or old, pretty or plain, Jaskier would beam and flirt with all of them. But he always made sure to take Geralt’s hand the second they had gone, assuring that he may be a flirt but it was Geralt he wanted. Geralt got used to it in the end, he could see the joy the attention gave Jaskier and he wasn’t going to ruin that just because of some stupid pointless snap of jealously. He had no reason to be jealous. He had Jaskier all to himself, out of the way of these prying eyes. No one else got to tear him apart and leave him panting and exhausted and covered in love bites.

No one else got to hear him sing the way Geralt did.

Geralt’s penthouse was beginning to feel more like a home than it ever had before with Jaskier living there. Slowly as the days past more and more of Jaskier’s life made itself at home there. His favourite food in the fridge, his clothes filling up next to Geralt’s in the wardrobe, how untidy he actually was, Geralt often picking up his clothes off the floor and hanging them up for him. He’d find his guitar in the most unusual of places sometimes, whenever inspiration had struck. It was _in_ the fireplace once. Jaskier had tried to pass it off as some artist viewpoint, when in fact Geralt knew for a fact Jaskier had been struggling with some music making and, in a dramatic over-the-top rage, had stashed it there and left it to calm down.

Jaskier’s singing voice filled the empty rooms like he was filling Geralt’s life. It really was feeling like a home here. Before it was just the penthouse, the place where he lived, but it had always been cold and silent and lonely. Not anymore. Now it was a home, warm and noisy and loving.

The little horse bowl by the door, which had only ever held Geralt’s keys, now held whatever Jaskier dumped into it when he came home. Sweets, bits of paper with lyrics on them, chewing gum packets, clean tissues, money, it all ended up in a big pile. Along with Jaskier’s own keys of course. Like the very first time he stayed here Jaskier was constantly nearly knocking the bowl off the side where it sat, always knocking it with his coat or his guitar, or just his own flailing limbs as he’d go to hug and kiss Geralt goodbye for the morning. Every time he had caught it, but one day it was going to go flying.

“Perhaps we should move the bowl.” Jaskier sheepishly suggested.

“Perhaps you should pay more attention?” Geralt suggested back with a wry smile, and Jaskier just _hmpf’d_ and turned away overly dramatically and crossing his arms.

“Oh, and here I thought there was give and take in relationships.”

“There is. You break that bowl and you give me an exact new one.”

Jaskier couldn’t hold back the laugh.

Life was good. Life was actually a life now, not just waking up and being alive again for another day. Jaskier made every day worth getting up for. Jaskier gave him noise, and peace, and attention and quiet nuzzles.

Jaskier gave him the world he should have always had.

* * *

It was a busy four weeks since Geralt had come clean with Jaskier about who he was, but after Jaskier’s album was released and the interviews and photoshoots had calmed, it was then that Jaskier actually enquired about that horse bowl. It was the only thing in the entire penthouse that didn’t look like it belonged, or rather it was something Geralt had actually brought with him, and wasn’t just part of the furniture already here when he’d moved in.

“I like horses.” Geralt replied when Jaskier asked him, and Jaskier rolled his eyes.

“Well I gathered that, but why is it the only thing?”

Geralt looked at it, shrugging slightly, “I bought it when I got Roach.”

Jaskier blinked at him, “…I’m sorry, what?”

“Hmm, had I never mentioned her before?”

Jaskier was trying not to act like he wasn’t confused but…he was. Most definitely.

“No. Who, or what, is Roach?”

“My horse.”

Jaskier was sure he felt his heart do some sort of insane hurdling flip inside his chest, and he actually staggered back a bit, “Your…you own a _horse_?”

“Yeah. I normally see her a couple of times a week, but with everything going on…” Geralt trailed off, and then let an amused grin tug at the corners of his lips at seeing what could only be descried as heart eyes coming from Jaskier “Want to come with me this afternoon?”

_“Yeeeahgels.”_

Geralt raised his eyebrows questioningly high.

Jaskier cleared his throat awkwardly, “Um, that was…meant to be a yes. But my brain…stopped.”

Jaskier had indeed meant to say yes. What came out was a garbled arrangement of sounds which could maybe pass as a yes if said by someone drowning in his own drool at the thought of Geralt on a huge stallion riding through a forest with his silvery-white hair flowing behind him like something out of a fairy-tale.

Geralt smirked at him.

* * *

Roach, as it turned out, was huge. Jaskier had never seen a horse before in his life apart from on television, and he had no idea just how big they were. The stables where she was kept backed onto a large expanse of private natural woods and fields, used to walk and run the horses. The horses here were mostly ones owned by the super rich, ones not for racing or farming, just pets for their spoilt daughters and snobby sons.

And Geralt.

“Easy girl,” Geralt was saying calmly, stroking Roach steadily down her nose as she whinnied at the approach of a stranger, “he won’t bite.”

Jaskier just raised his eyebrows high where he stood a good distance away, “ _I_ won’t bite?!”

Geralt’s lips curled and he turned to him, “She sees the same people every day, she doesn’t know you. Come on, you can come closer than that.”

They stood in a large enclosed pen outside the stables where Jaskier had been watching Geralt clean out Roach’s hooves and saddling her. Jaskier was half afraid half excited, but cautiously stepped forward.

“Now put your palm out flat.” Geralt said, and reluctantly Jaskier did just that. Geralt placed half a carrot on his palm, “Now keep it flat, don’t let your thumb stick out, and give that carrot to her.”

Jaskier swallowed. He could have sworn the horse was eying him in a way that was daring him to come one step closer before she stamped all over him, “Erm, are you sure?”

“Jaskier,” Geralt said fondly, stroking down Roach’s mane, “she won’t hurt you.”

With one eye closed and leaning back as far as he could, Jaskier walked the few more steps needed and stretched out his arm. He was going to lose his hand, he just knew it. He could feel the hot breath of the horse on his palm as she sniffed around it, and then suddenly the carrot was gone, crunching loudly in her mouth. Jaskier went to rip his hand away but Geralt caught it, and with a calm look to him just brought it forward, placing his palm on her nose as she ate. Jaskier opened his other eye, feeling just how soft she was.

“Wow, kinda….feels like velvet.” he said, visibly relaxing, though still cautious as he gently stroked her nose.

When she finished her carrot she huffed loudly and shook her head, and Jaskier snapped his hand away, “ _Ooooooo_ kaaaaay, no more touching.”

Geralt chuckled to himself, patting Roach on her shoulder, “Play nice.” Roach gently head butted him against his chest. Geralt looked back to Jaskier, “Want to come and ride her with me?”

“Ohhh no no no no no,” Jaskier said, backing away, hands waving in front of himself, “I’m….not riding a horse. I’d rather just watch you.”

Geralt tilted his head, “You sure?”

“Ohhhh yes.”

Perhaps one day Jaskier would pluck up enough courage. After all the idea of sitting behind Geralt, holding onto his waist as they galloped through the trees, hearing his heartbeat where Jaskier would rest his head against his back, it was all a heavenly romantic idea. Jaskier could already feel lyrics in his head. But it was not going to be today. In fact he was very glad he hadn’t taken up the offer, for he would never have been able to lean against the fence with a soppy in-love expression as he watched Geralt ride across the huge fields.

It didn’t help that Geralt was wearing a tight black polo t-shirt with the three buttons on the top un-done, teasing the muscular chest beneath, along with his huge biceps on show for all the world to see. Add the riding boots and the reigns being held commandingly in those big hands, his posture confident and looking like he belonged nowhere better than on the back of a horse, Jaskier thought he could watch him like this forever, his heart racing as fast as they were galloping.

Sometimes they went so far they were but a dot in the distance, but then they’d come galloping back, Roach strong and powerful, jumping over the few deliberate obstacles that littered her path. As she did Geralt showed not one ounce of fear on his face, his long hair flowing out behind him just as Jaskier had imagined. Jaskier would have been terrified of being on a horse while it jumped, but Geralt…

Jaskier sighed like a teenage girl as he watched, chin in his hands where he leant against the fence watching his dreamboat of a boyfriend tame the big wild scary horse. Whenever Geralt came nearby he'd smile at Jaskier, and Jaskier's heart felt like it was beating against his chest like something out of a cartoon. A few other romantic sighs joined him, and he frowned curiously, turning to his right to see a group of stable girls pausing in their work, leaning on their brooms and watching Geralt too.

Jaskier grinned at them. Oh how he understood those sighs.

“Excuse me! Oh oh excuse me!!”

Jaskier looked to his left now where a small girl with long platinum blond hair was suddenly bouncing up and down excitedly, looking at up at him with the most beaming grin.

“Excuse me but, but are you Julian Pankratz?”

Ah, a fan. Jaskier beamed right back at her, turning to her giving her his full attention, “Yes I am little Miss, and what can I do for you?”

The girl squealed but then turned behind her, “Grandmother! Grandmother it is him I knew it was!!”

Behind her walked a very well dressed and rather fierce looking older woman. She was no wilting flower, there were muscles on her to rival any fit young person, and Jaskier couldn’t help his wide eyes.

“Wow um…” he mumbled as she approached, “you’re…very…” his hands turned in front of him as he tried to find a word that wasn’t going to sound insulting, and she raised an eyebrow at him as he faltered, “…authoritative?” He finished with, and almost grit his teeth wondering if he was about to be thrown over the fence by her.

Instead, she smiled, rather satisfyingly, “Thank you.”

The little girl pulled at her sleeve, “Oh please grandmother please can he play at the wedding? _Please_!!”

“Now now Ciri,” the woman said kindly, “we already have a band for the wedding we don’t need anyone else.”

“But!! But it’s _Julian Panktratz_!! We could have him too! He doesn’t have to be part of the main band he could just mingle with the guests afterwards. He could play his guitar and sing to everyone! Please! Oh _please_ grandmother!”

Jaskier was grinning delightfully at her, “Aw, I’m sorry little lady but I can’t do private events.”

The older woman smiled kindly to her granddaughter, and then looked to Jaskier, “I’ve always found it hard to deny my granddaughter. Very well. How much will it be to change your mind?”

“Oh, oh no that’s not…I mean I really can’t,” Jaskier said, waving his hands in front of him, “my agent would kill me if I just took side jobs, I have a contract and-“ the whole time he was speaking the woman had nodded to a man in a black suit behind her, a rather handsome older man with a neat beard and rather wild hair, who ducked into the passenger door of a very sleek BMW and brought out a briefcase, “I mean I’m really flattered and I don’t want to disappoint,” Jaskier gave the girl a winning if slightly apologetic smile, just as the woman held up the briefcase, clicking it open and wide, “but I really can’t _okay-I’ll-do-it_.”

Ciri was squealing in delight, but Jaskier could only stare at the open briefcase that held more money than he had ever seen in his life, an amount that subsequently shut off any logical part of his brain. £50 bills, filling it right to top in bound wedges one on top of the other. There must have been…well he didn’t know, but _fuck_ that was lot of money!

“How about I have this sent to your agency as an apology for the inconvenience,” the woman said, closing the case before Jaskier started salivating all over it, “and we’ll pay you triple once the event is over. Is that alright with you?”

“T- _triple_?” Jaskier stared at her, eyes really wide now, before he tried to regain some more professional composure and swallowed hard, “Er… _yeah_! Sure, that’s good!”

Was his voice always that high?

The woman smiled again, and handed the briefcase back to the man behind her, “Good. We’ll send your agency the details for the event. In the mean time it was a pleasure meeting you Mr Pankratz.” She held out her hand for him to take, and he did, though still slightly in a daze, “My name is Calanthe Cintra, I look forward to hearing your work, my granddaughter is a big fan.”

“You’re…you’re welcome.” Jaskier said breathlessly, as Ciri bounced up and down before suddenly pouncing on Jaskier and wrapping her arms around him.

“Oh thank you thank you _thank you_!!!” she squealed at him.

“Heh, you’re welcome too.” He grinned down at her, hugging her back, still wondering what the hell had just happened.

“Come now Ciri,” Calanthe commanded, “We must get you to your riding lessons.”

Ciri reluctantly let her favourite singer go, “Bye!!” she said excitedly as she took her grandmothers hand, and then continued to talk to her non-stop about him as they walked away.

As they walked towards the stables where Calanthe had just bought her granddaughter a horse, and had chosen these stables to house it, she looked out towards the field as Ciri still fawned over her favourite singer. She saw Geralt riding Roach, the man oblivious to anything but his horse.

“Hmmm, what an amusing sight,” she murmured to herself, a tug of a smirk on her lips as the initial surprise at seeing him wore off, “a wolf riding a horse. How unusual.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Was this chapter mostly an excuse to mention as many sex scenes as possible?  
> Yes, yes it was.  
> Please continue to leave me comments! They all inspire me so much! :D


	11. “My pretty puppy.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry about the slightly longer wait for this chapter, I've spent the week worrying about losing my job because of the coronavirus which kinda puts a downer on trying to write. As it happens they've announced my job is safe, though at slightly reduced hours while the demand isn't there (I'm a hotel receptionist, thought they may close the hotel but they're not), so YAY, I still have a job.

“Jaskier what the _fuck_ were you thinking?! You don’t take money from strangers asking you for personal favours!”

“It was a little girl and her grandmother!”

“Who just _happened_ to be wandering around with a case full of money?! Do you have any self-preservation at all?”

Jaskier crossed his arms and glared at him, “Well if I did I wouldn’t be in love with _you_ now would I?”

Geralt let out a loud growl of frustration and glared right back at him.

As fantastically amazing as the prospect of all that money was, Jaskier was a man of love and his mind did have its priorities on what to get distracted by more, and Geralt was at the top of his list. Shortly after Calanthe had walked away and Jaskier had turned back to Geralt, his mind was soon full of his love and _lust_ for watching him riding Roach again, and had only remembered about the money when they’d got home, and had promptly and excitedly told Geralt all about it.

Geralt was rightfully angry.

“Didn’t you think it a bit odd for someone to be carrying around money like that? Didn’t you think to _question_ it?”

“Are you kidding?” Jaskier exclaimed, “Did you see the kind of people that were wandering around that place? There was more money in their _handbags_ than what I’ve earned in my life! I wouldn’t be surprised if they were all sitting around after their horse riding laughing and bathing in briefcases of money.”

“You don’t need the money Jaskier,” Geralt said, rather softly now, “look at where you are, I can pay for anything you want.”

And he would. Anything he wanted he would get him. If he was that desperate for money he’d just give him the money, it meant nothing to Geralt, he only wanted Jaskier to be happy, and not to risk himself for an unknown cause just to get it.

Jaskier however, was now smirking smugly, placing his hands on his hips, “ _Well_ , as much as I _love_ the idea of you being my _sugar daddy_ , I’d still rather make my own money.”

Geralt despised the little blush that came to his cheeks when he realised what he’d implied. He was trying to be angry here! One day Jaskier was going to do something so stupid in his recklessness and Geralt just had to hope he’d be around to save him.

“You should just be careful, that’s all I’m saying.” He looked at his stupid little lark, then sighed, defeated by that smile, “When is this wedding anyway?”

“Don’t know. The woman said she contact my agency.”

“And you can’t remember her name?” Geralt said, giving him a look of complete exasperation.

“I was distracted. By _you_. So if anything this is all entirely your fault.”

“ _My_ -!” before he could barely even start his quick-to-anger sentence Jaskier quickly kissed him, and the anger fizzled out of him like a deflating balloon.

“You need to stop being so sexy.” Jaskier grinned against his lips, giving him a wink.

“Hmm.” Geralt murmured, a small unwilling smile on his lips as he watched Jaskier bounce away.

The problem was there was something bothering him about this, and it wasn’t just Jaskier accepting large amounts of a strangers money. His worry was something he didn’t want to think was possible to be such a coincidence.

Most of the time his jobs with Yennefer were last minute needs, but sometimes there were events planned well ahead. The marriage of the daughter of one of the London crime families was one such an event, and it was happening next week. It was one every crime family was invited to, followed by an evening of pleasant threats and hidden snide remarks. The host family would get to boast about their well-being while they all eyed each other up, getting the latest gossip on their work, forming relationships or furthering enemies, and generally getting an up-to-date idea on how each family was fairing in the underworld. 

It went unspoken at such gatherings that a truce was called, despite all the snake-whispering and plotting that would go on underneath. No one would arrive with any weapons, no one would arrive with murder in mind, they were to uphold the appearance of nothing but a normal happy event to the public eye. To ensure this they would hire innocent people to serve, waiters and cooks and entertainers, for the deaths of innocents were always much harder to explain away or hide than one of their own, so everyone was much more likely to behave.

Geralt never told Jaskier of his jobs, where he was or what had happened, simply so in the worst-case scenario Jaskier had deniability. So Geralt shook his head, clearing it, choosing to ignore his worry for he couldn’t bring it up with Jaskier anyway, and really, it would simply be ridiculous that it was the same wedding. Hundreds, thousands of weddings took place every day, it would simply be far too coincidental, plus he surely would have heard if the Cintra’s used the same stables as he did…though there was a granddaughter in the family….no, no it was so stupid to even think it could be the same wedding that Geralt tucked that worry away and paid it no more attention.

Not even destiny would be that obvious.

* * *

The following week was very similar to the past month, the difference being with Jaskier’s album now released he had a lot more free time. Oh there was still the occasional interview, a few one off performances and talk of a tour, and they even spent one night curled up together on the sofa as they watched Jaskier on a pre-recorded chat show on the television that he’d done a few nights before.

“Why do you even bother wearing a shirt?” Geralt enquired, as the bright pink shirt Jaskier had been wearing on the show was unbuttoned half way down his chest. It was very distracting, and not just for Geralt, the other guests kept on glancing downwards at Jaskier’s chest too.

Jaskier just grinned, “It’s my image. You have to have an image in my world, just like in yours. You, for example, world image of the big cruel malicious dangerous tough guy who could kill you with a glance of his fearsome golden eyes, when in reality you are an adorable loving pretty puppy baby.”

There was a long pause, before a mortified Geralt said;

“Please don’t ever describe me like that again.”

Jaskier just laughed loudly, and cuddled to his pretty puppy even closer.

About half way through that week was a day where Jaskier finally got to use the one thing that he’d wanted to use since he was first shown around the penthouse. The swimming pool. Oh there had been plenty of hot days, but it had been when he was still preparing his album and he’d not been home, or if he had it had been raining, or they’d done other things like walking round Regents Park or buying those curtains that now hung in their bedroom finally keeping it dark.

With his free time now though Jaskier had dragged Geralt up to the roof to have a lazy lounging day in the sun. And it had been a _scorcher_. The heat was shimmering off the ground in a haze, and Geralt had pointed out that he didn’t do sunbathing, that his skin rarely ever saw any light at all, which is how Jaskier ended up having much fun slathering up those muscles in strong sun cream and then ordering him to lay on the lounge chair (which they pulled out of storage) to finally get some sun on that very white skin of his. 

Jaskier seemed to always have some varying degree of a tan, what with constantly having his shirt open and sleeves rolled up, but to him that only meant that the rest of him didn’t match. Geralt could only watch, highly amused, as Jaskier did exactly what he had threatened to do the first time he’d seen the pool and stripped down entirely naked. The little flirt then proceeded to deliberately slowly rub that sun cream all over himself, while constantly glancing back to Geralt with a grin, who just lay there watching him with a curl of his lips. He then climbed carefully onto the li-lo he’d bought, sunglasses over his eyes, and picked up his glass of Sex on the Beach cocktail he’d made himself in the bar downstairs. He then lay there floating gently across the pool, sipping his cocktail through a straw, utterly naked.

When a helicopter went by overhead, very close considering it was a tall building, Jaskier waved to it.

“That could be paparazzi,” Geralt called out to him, an amused tone at the thought, laying there more respectfully in a pair of black shorts and his own rarely used sunglasses, “what if a nude photo of you arrives online?”

Jaskier just grinned, taking a sip of his cocktail, “Eh, let the world see what only you can have.”

“Heh.” Jaskier was so shameless, and Geralt just swelled with affection for him.

A little while later, while Geralt was drifting off to sleep in the hot sun, he vaguely heard a small splash of water where it sounded like Jaskier had slipped off his li-lo. A few moments later he could be heard padding across the floor, and suddenly Geralt felt his shorts being tugged down.

“Jaskier.” Geralt murmured, a small smirk on his lips, though not opening his eyes, “what do you think you’re doing?”

He could feel those talented hands grip the base of his cock, and then a familiar wet tongue suddenly lick around the head. Geralt took in a slow breath.

“I’m sucking you off.” Jaskier replied matter-of-factly, before licking his lips and pushing down over the head, just an inch or so, kissing it sloppily as he released it.

“I can feel that. Why?”

Jaskier flattened his tongue against the underside and licked upwards slowly, swallowing around the head again and pushing his tongue into the slit. Geralt took in a sharper breath, his lips parting.

“Because I want you to fuck me in the pool.” Jaskier replied again when he released him, only to rub his wet lips against the shaft, the tip of his tongue teasing against the growing hardness.

Geralt opened one eye to peer down at him. Fuck it was a hot sight. The pool water was dripping off Jaskier’s hair onto Geralt’s hot skin, his sunglasses had been pushed to the top of his head showing eyes that were so blue and bright and cheeky as he looked up at him, that mouth and tongue still working their magic over Geralt’s cock.

Geralt couldn’t help the blush, he knew how much Jaskier loved sucking him off, he was so good at teasing him and knew exactly what Geralt liked. The night Geralt had given him the wild buttercups and dandelions, the night where Geralt had come more than Jaskier for a change, Jaskier had spent _hours_ on his cock, pushing him past all breaking points before he even had a chance to fuck him.

Talking, singing, taking cock, Jaskier had a _very_ talented mouth indeed.

Suddenly Jaskier was grinning, “Or maybe…” he began, as he crawled up over Geralt’s body and straddled him, Geralt’s cock pressing up between Jaskier’s arse cheeks, rubbing it there as he curled his hips, “maybe you’d prefer to just have me here, like this,” he took Geralt’s hands that had been resting at his sides and moved them up above his head, holding them there, Geralt doing nothing but watching and feeling the blood rushing to his cock, “you do seem to like me on top,” he cooed against his lips, before taking them in a long, slow, deep kiss, Geralt finding his hips moving up to greet that friction, his hands still trapped above his head, “I never hear you moan as much as when I’m in charge.” Jaskier licked across Geralt’s lips, dipping his tongue inside once again, and as if on cue Geralt _moaned_.

It was true. If Jaskier’s favourite position was being fucked so balls deep from behind that he couldn’t see straight, then Geralt’s favourite definitely seemed to be Jaskier riding him on top. But it wasn’t just the masterful movements. It was the words, commands and praise whispered so hotly in his ear it made Geralt feel like his mind was melting. It was the way he’d hold Geralt’s wrists so he couldn’t touch him, building him up in both frustration and sexual desire, keeping him away from that teasing body he desperately wanted to ravish. It was seeing that look in Jaskier’s eyes, the look that said _you’re mine_ , the look that saw the man beneath him who could quite easily overpower him and know he was at his command.

Something about all that combined had Geralt as hard as a rock, and he never realised this was a thing that turned him on until Jaskier. It was like…like he trusted Jaskier to be good to him. He’d never trusted anyone else like that. He felt like something should happen, something… something Geralt didn’t have the words for, didn’t have the ability to voice what he wanted, but it was something he knew he only wanted to do with Jaskier. It was a feeling that made him feel small, but not in a bad way, in a protected way, and for once it wasn’t himself doing the protecting.

Jaskier held his heart so tenderly, was there a way of showing just how tenderly?

“Maybe we should give that helicopter a show?” Jaskier grinned, those teasing words of his against Geralt’s lips as that same helicopter flew back over them, their movements heating up, hot, sun-drenched bodies moving against one another as Jaskier ground down onto him, “Or maybe…” something brave came over Jaskier as he lapped at his lovers lips, getting carried away with that arousing feel of Geralt’s cock so hard against his arse, “maybe I could slip inside _you_ and they wouldn’t even notice?”

He carried on attacking Geralt’s lips as though he hadn’t just suggested he fuck Geralt for a change, but in his brain Jaskier was screaming at himself, panic taking over fast. Why the fuck did he just say that?! Geralt had never once brought that up never once suggested he’d want to do it that way. Hell he was nearly _raped_ as a child, it’s why Jaskier had never wondered why they never did it the other way around, he figured that was just how it was going to be, and don’t get him wrong gods he LOVED being fucked by him, but he’d be lying if he hadn’t imagined all those muscles wrapped around him as he fucked him instead. God he just knew it’d feel amazing but fuck what just possessed him to come out with it like that?!

_Oh gods keep kissing him maybe he didn’t hear oh **fuck** …_

In his blind panic though Jaskier hadn’t noticed that Geralt had not only continued kissing him back, but at Jaskier’s suggestion had in-fact bucked his hips up, a deep groan falling from his lips. In fact the only thing that indicated he had been surprised by the not-so-subtle suggestion was the fact his eyes flew open under his sunglasses, but only for a moment, before Jaskier’s hot, desperate lips over took all logical thought and actions, and his eyes fell closed again.

Geralt was shocked, not for the suggestion, but for the realisation that _that_ had been the feeling. _That_ is what that strange but non un-pleasant feeing had been before, when Jaskier had Geralt’s hands tied behind his back, whispering those praise filled words in his ear as he rode him, entirely in charge, but _trusting_ him. Trust was such a huge thing to Geralt, there was so little of it in his life, so little of someone else taking charge and caring for him, so little of being vulnerable but loved.

So, _so_ loved.

And he _wanted_ it. He _craved_ it.

From such a small age he’d learnt that no one would look out for him, that he only had himself, everyone else was an enemy, that kindness and love and trust were things from a fantasy world. Until Jaskier no one had said they loved him. Until Jaskier no one had smiled at him so beautifully. Until Jaskier no one had made him feel wanted or needed or…or to feel so open to all these feelings he’d never been allowed to have before. Jaskier was full of that kindness and love and trust, it’s like he’d been plucked from Geralt’s fantasy world and plonked straight onto his lap.

For barely a flicker of a moment Geralt’s mind ran through the image of Blaviken, hands on his belt as he tried to rip off the twelve year old Geralt’s trousers, but it was gone in an instant, replaced by a stunning smile and lively eyes and those _hands_. Those hands that held him and cared for him and loved him and _oh_ …Geralt sighed into the kiss. He felt drunk, as he so often did, always losing the battle against those sweet lips.

He was utterly powerless against Jaskier, he may as well admit it.

Jaskier had given him everything he had ever wanted, everything he had never had, and he wanted to give him _everything_ in return. Even though it had never crossed his mind to switch sexual positions before there wasn’t a single reason he could think of to say no. He thought there would be, that he would be…not repelled by it, that was too strong a word, but certainly uncomfortable, unsure, certainly far out of his comfort zone to be at the mercy of anyone, even just in sex.

But Jaskier’s suggestion had his heart racing, _because_ it was Jaskier suggesting it. His sweet, loving Jaskier, who had given more love to Geralt than he knew was possible.

“Alright.” Geralt found himself whispering against Jaskier’s lips.

Now it was Jaskier’s turn to have his eyes fly open, and he stopped kissing him and quickly leant back, looking over Geralt’s face. He removed Geralt’s sunglasses to be absolutely sure they weren’t concealing some joke in the eyes behind them, for as far as Jaskier was concerned Geralt had just said the most bizarre thing he’d ever heard.

“…wait, what? Really?”

Geralt tried to catch his breath, staring back at that highly confused but highly hopeful face, “Yeah,” his voice was husky with want, “I mean I’ve never…done it that way before but…” he looked up into those excited eyes, Jaskier’s entire face paused in exploding into joy, waiting for Geralt to finish speaking, “but it’s you.” He moved his hands from where Jaskier’s grip had gone lax with shock, and he took Jaskier’s hands in his own, bringing them to his lips and placing a kiss to each one, “I’m fairly sure I’d do anything for you.”

Jaskier gasped so excitedly, his face splitting into the biggest grin, just at the same moment Geralt ruined his own romanticism by scrunching up his own face in mild disgust when he realised the sentence he’d just come out with.

“Fuck, I say the sappiest things around you, and I always regret it.”

Jaskier gave him an amused, doubtful look, “Do you really?”

“Hmm…” Geralt looked back up at him, that grinning face so extatically happy, and Geralt could feel his whole being yearn to always make him that happy, “…no, not really.”

Jaskier practically squealed, before crashing his lips to Geralt’s again, “Oh Geralt,” he moaned eagerly, “if you really mean that then we’re doing this now before you change your mind.”

“I won’t change my mind.”

Jaskier practically whimpered, before quicker than he’s ever moved before he jumped up off him and practically dragged the man to standing before pulling him back towards the door.

“I really won’t change my mind,” Geralt insisted, “I thought you wanted me to fuck you in pool?”

“That can wait for another day, right now we are getting into bed and not moving from there until you’re screaming my name.”

“Oh is that so?” Geralt was suddenly overcome with some cheekiness of his own, and suddenly Jaskier was being spun around and gently slammed against the wall as they reached the door back inside, Geralt’s forearm against the wall above Jaskier’s head, his chin being tilted up with Geralt’s fingers, “Maybe I’m not ready to have my record beaten of _my_ name being screamed first, hm?”

Jaskier grinned, “Oohhh hohoh no, don’t you throw your strength around with me _puppy_ , you’re _mine_.” He playful slapped at his chest and kissed him quickly, before ducking down under his arms and grabbing his wrist again, pulling him back through the roof access and back through the penthouse. “Oh I am gonna be _so_ good to you, you have no idea you are in for such a treat I am such an expert you are in such good hands I-“

“ _Jaskier_ ,” Geralt chuckled, “it sounds like you couldn’t have more of a bigger head if you tried.”

“Oh please like you don’t know first-hand how brilliant I am, but now I get to give you _all_ the pleasures and darling I am a _star_ in all of them you won’t regret this I promise you that.”

Geralt smiled warmly at him. Oh he had no doubt.

As they reached the bedroom they were already entangled in each other’s arms, falling onto the bed together, carefree and laughing and being exactly how a couple in love should be. Jaskier had Geralt on his back, and began leaving giggling kisses along his jaw, down his throat, big sloppy wet ones across his chest. Geralt had one hand at the back of Jaskier’s head, fingers through his hair, the other palming across his back.

“If you wanted to do this before, why didn’t you say?” Geralt asked, feeling unusually calm and actually rather…intrigued. 

Jaskier always came so hard when he was fucked, always looked and sounded like he was having the best time of his life. Geralt wondered if it was even possible for himself to let go as much as Jaskier did. He doubted it. He would always be reserved, no matter how much he was told he moaned so much louder when Jaskier was in charge. Geralt could feel himself smiling inside, thinking he should probably get Jaskier back for that remark.

Jaskier peered up at him from his chest, “Would you have said yes before?”

Geralt paused, “…maybe…I don’t know.”

Jaskier gazed up at him, before putting one more kiss in the middle of his chest and then leaning up on his elbows to look at Geralt directly in the face.

“Geralt, I say this with all the love and adoration in the world…but you are one fucked up man.”

“Hm.” Geralt cracked a small smile. He couldn’t deny that.

“And I didn’t want to make you feel uncomfortable or…or have you dart out of my life like a deer. I get it.” Jaskier said softly, running some strands of Geralt’s white hair through his fingers, brushing them aside from his face, “I get what this means to you, I do. You don’t do vulnerable. Your whole life you’ve been fighting against everyone around you. I get it. I get _you_ , and you have no idea how happy it makes me that you’re letting me be the only one that you don’t fight against. Being vulnerable with someone isn’t a bad thing,” he nuzzled gently against his nose, letting a small grin take over, “hell it’s an _amazing_ thing, and I wanna show you every way in which someone can be loved. Because I do love you Geralt, so much.” He moved from nuzzling his nose to kissing his lips, so softly and tenderly, embracing the sweet moment between them as their lips moved together, “I love you so much it makes my heart ache.”

It wasn’t an unusual thing for Geralt, but he was at a loss for words.

“Jaskier…” he breathed, looking into those blue eyes that suddenly seemed so serious, so sincere, so full of love it made Geralt breathless. He could do nothing but gaze back at him, and swore he could feel the sincerity radiating off him, the care, the innocent need to show Geralt everything he had missed in his whole life.

Geralt had never felt so in love in his life.

“So let me love you.” Jaskier said softly, before a smirk grew on those charming lips, “My pretty puppy.”

Geralt let out a low grumbling noise from the back of his throat, playfully glowering at him, “Is that nickname going to stay?” he asked, as Jaskier grinned and ducked down again to resume his kisses across his chest, those cheeky eyes glancing back up at him.

“It might.”

“Hmmm.”

So for the first time in his life, Geralt let himself be in the care of someone else’s hands. And he was fascinated by it. It wasn’t like the way Jaskier was touching his body was any different than before, Jaskier always lavished attention on every part of him, except one particular part of course. But because he knew where this was going this time, Geralt couldn’t stop watching him. He had a feeling Jaskier wanted him to put his head back, relax into the pillow, let the kisses and touches and the new lubed fingers around his entrance make him wriggle and squirm, just like Jaskier did. But Geralt didn’t. He wasn’t that type. Instead he just watched, the occasional small gasp through parted lips, his eyelids lowering over darkening eyes as he felt those fingers touch his most intimate area. His legs were open, knees bent with his feet on the bed, Jaskier in between them, and he just _watched_ him.

It was making Jaskier blush!

Jaskier wasn’t sure if he wanted to laugh or squirrel himself away from those piercing eyes. It was such an intense gaze, like he was being studied and memorised. Geralt barely had any reaction to that first finger pushing inside, just a small lick of his lips. Jaskier knew that when Geralt did this to him, his fingers inside him, curling teasingly and stretching always making him as ready as he could be, that he’d be gripping the pillow by this point, blushing madly, pushing back against those fingers. But Geralt was so _still_. Jaskier tried to lavish Geralt’s cock at the same time as his fingers worked, trying to make this beast of man to actually fall into his spell, he was good at this he knew he was he had countless people before him melt at his talented fingers.

But still Geralt stared.

Jaskier had to say something.

“Look, Geralt, are you actually…I mean are you enjoying this?”

“Hmm?” Geralt blinked out of his staring.

“I can’t tell if you’re…do you want me to stop?”

Geralt looked genuinely surprised, “…no?”

Surely his achingly hard cock was a give away he was enjoying it?

“It’s just you don’t seem to be into this very much.”

Geralt blinked at him, then let a small smile reach his lips when he realised what was troubling him, “Jaskier, just because I’m not melting into the mattress doesn’t mean this doesn’t feel good, you know I just don’t do that.” he smiled at him comfortingly, “I haven’t…no one’s done this before and I just wanted to watch, that’s all.”

“Oh, okay.” Jaskier was blushing more than Geralt was at being studied so intently, but at his explanation something else came over his eyes, something a little… daring, “Good, just checking.”

Jaskier then deliberately curled his fingers over that bundle of nerves for the first time, and gave a grin of utter self-satisfaction when Geralt grunted loudly and rolled his eyes, his head hitting the pillow and staying there. “So who doesn’t do what now?” Jaskier asked smugly over him.

“You little-, _ah_!”

Jaskier did it again, and keeping his fingers where they were he leant up over Geralt’s body and kissed him, deeply, moaning deliciously into his mouth as Geralt _finally_ , if reluctantly, began to relax.

“You were saying?” Jaskier teased, brushing those nerves again making Geralt’s cheeks redden at every moment, “Now stop studying me like you're preparing for an exam and _relax_.”

Geralt just growled, and captured those irritating lips again. He would definitely get him back for all these things, and even now there was something forming in his mind. He took note of where Jaskier had let the bottle of lube fall on the bed beside them, but otherwise let Jaskier think he was winning this…whatever this was. It did feel good, he had to admit he didn’t realise how good. Strange, at first, very strange, but Jaskier was _very_ good. Perhaps he’d let him get away with all that boasting after all.

And perhaps…he was right. Less staring, more letting Jaskier do what he did best.

And do it he did. As Jaskier’s fingers moved inside him he kissed Geralt all over his face, lapping at his neck, murmuring sweet nothings against his skin still hot from the sun on the roof. Geralt made himself close his eyes, made himself get lost in Jaskier’s love, though he was still self-conscious about any noises he made. Jaskier just rolled his eyes, but he knew Geralt was feeling good. He had other tells. He may be able to vaguely control his groans but he couldn’t stop a blush, couldn’t stop the involuntary intakes of breath at feeling particularly good, or the way his hand would fist in Jaskier’s hair or curl against the covers beneath them.

Jaskier was loving this so much, it was literally a fantasy come true. He loved all people, had _made_ love with all people, been in every position short of completing the karma sutra, most probably. But this, knowing who Geralt was, what he’d been through, what his mentality must be to having someone do this to him…oh, Jaskier wanted to make him feel so good that he’d forget everything bad that ever happened to him.

“Do you…do you think you’re ready?” Jaskier asked, three fingers having moved and stretched as much as they could, but he said it in such a small voice it made Geralt look up at him.

“Shy all of a sudden?” he asked, with a surprisingly gentle smile, and fuck from Jaskier’s point of view if he looked so unbelievably gorgeous, with that blush and that white hair splayed out on the pillow and that soft smile and _guh_ …Jaskier’s brain was close to melting.

But, it was a surprisingly _unsure_ smile he gave in return.

“I keep thinking I’m dreaming.”

Geralt gazed at him softly, before running his hand up the back of Jaskier’s neck and into his hair again, cradling his head as he brought him back down for another kiss. It was slow and steady, so beautifully meaningful that Jaskier finally did melt into him, the kiss somehow telling him that this _was_ real.

“You silly little lark.” Geralt murmured affectionately, kissing him softly again, feeling Jaskier chuckle against his lips.

“Little lark?”

“It’s what I’ve been calling you in my head.” Geralt admitted, “Don’t look at me like that it’s hardly worse than _pretty puppy_ , and by god I swear Jaskier if you call me that in public-“

He was cut off as Jaskier laughed long and loudly, an absolutely beautiful sound, and in such a ridiculous situation too, both naked with his fingers still up Geralt’s arse and with Geralt trying to use his _scary voice_ on Jaskier to start an argument about pet names.

Jaskier’s entire body shook with laughter where he lay on top of him, his fingers moving of their own accord still inside Geralt, and Geralt let out a small groan at the feel, reminding them both at what they were supposed to be doing. Jaskier tried to calm himself, and looked down at Geralt with such a grin Geralt couldn’t help but relax again. No one was ever this happy around him.

“So,” Jaskier coughed to clear his throat, trying to be serious, and failing quite miserably, “do you think you’re ready?” he asked through a laugh.

Geralt just gazed at him with a ridiculous smile, shaking his head slightly never understanding how this bright being came into his life, but then quickly answered before Jaskier mis-understood, “Yeah.”

Jaskier moved to prepare himself, rubbing lube onto his own cock, Geralt watching again. But then suddenly that odd shyness came back again, for when Jaskier positioned himself between Geralt’s legs, holding back his knees, he took one look at Geralt’s face still watching him intently and blushed deeply, then leant over and pressed his face into Geralt’s neck. Only then did he slowly push himself forward.

Geralt sucked the tiniest of hisses through his teeth, cradling Jaskier’s head at his neck again, brown locks soft through his fingers. Jaskier paused almost instantly.

“’m fine.” Geralt murmured, kissing that hair.

There was a little pain, but it was nothing compared to any of the things Geralt had suffered from in his life, it meant nothing to him and was easily coped with. In fact he wished he hadn’t let that sound escape at the way Jaskier froze. He was so still in his arms.

“Sure?” came the muffled response.

Hm, now look who needed to relax.

Geralt ran his hand down Jaskier’s back, comfortingly, gently, “Jaskier, you can move.” Almost comically tentatively Jaskier eased forward, and Geralt closed his eyes, breathing through his nose as he that felt that hardness very slowly fill him up. “’s good, Jaskier, ‘s good.” He tried to reassure him, tried to make some encouraging noises because he knew that’s what Jaskier wanted.

It was so unusual for Jaskier to feel so nervous in sex, absolutely nothing had been out of bounds between them before this, not once had Jaskier been shy about any of it. But this? Wasn’t the subservient one supposed to be the nervous one in this situation? Geralt was more curious than anything, but Jaskier was now suddenly treating him like the tiniest movement was going to have Geralt crying out in pain. Jaskier had been laughing so hard just a few minutes ago, now he felt so tense, even as he moved slowly out again, then in again, so slowly and carefully, for goodness sake Geralt wasn’t going to break!

“Jaskier look at me.” Jaskier’s head slowly rose and made eye contact. His face was so red, barely holding himself together, blue eyes blown dark, “What happened to all that boasting confidence huh?” he smiled at him, and Jaskier just out an amused huff of air through his nose.

“I don’t know. I think…I’m just happy.” He smiled, and it was such a genuine smile.

Geralt stroked his fingers down his cheek, feeling the heat radiating from his skin. Jaskier was now surrounding him and in him in every possible way, and it was not making Geralt feel any weaker or vulnerable for it. Jaskier was so special to him, never would he have thought the annoying man with the bread in his pants pick-up-line would be with him here now, like this, the only person to have ever gotten so far into Geralt’s life and his heart.

Geralt kissed him, deeply, wrapping his arms around him and gently rolling his own hips to give Jaskier some encouragement. Jaskier moaned into the kiss, feeling a little confidence return, and soon began a nice, slow, thrusting pace. He wouldn’t hurt Geralt, not ever, not in any way, Geralt deserved all the warmth and good feelings Jaskier could give him.

They kissed constantly, hungrily then lazily, lazily then hungrily, Geralt’s hands all over Jaskier’s back and in his hair and touching him everywhere. Jaskier could barely hold back, Geralt felt _so_ good, it was just how he imagined, that huge body all his to have and love. It made his chest swell that he was the only one that Geralt had ever done this with, that would probably ever do this with, and that Geralt really loved him enough to let him have him this way. Perhaps it wasn’t such a big deal to Geralt, maybe it was, Jaskier didn’t know, but it was to him. He loved to love, and now he was getting to do it in the final last way there was.

Geralt slowly began to let himself be taken away by it all, laying there letting the feeling of Jaskier being everywhere just wash over him. The pace inside him felt so odd, but most definitely not unpleasant, and every thrust felt better than the last. Jaskier’s cock was not as thick or even as long as Geralt’s, but he was not small by any standard. Geralt just happened to have been blessed rather thoroughly in that area. Jaskier was letting out little breathless moans into their kisses, Geralt still holding him close, little deep hums and moans of his own rumbling up through his throat.

“Gods, Geralt…you feel… _fuck_ …”

Jaskier dropped his head back down to Geralt’s neck, gripping Geralt’s hair, sliding in a little deeper and a little faster as he let out his own moan at the deep rumbled response coming up from Geralt’s chest. Geralt could feel the strangeness turning to pleasure every time Jaskier moved inside him, could feel the way Jaskier panted softly at his neck, the way his body moved so fluidly on top of him.

Suddenly Geralt let a sly curl come to his lips.

He knew Jaskier, knew _exactly_ what he liked, and it seemed a good time to put into practise Geralt’s little formulating plan from earlier.

Even though he had sped up a bit Jaskier still moved quite slowly inside him, face still pressed into Geralt’s neck, breathing deeply with a beautiful flush to his cheeks that he was actually getting to do this. But, he still needed encouragement that Geralt was not going to break if he actually fucked him. Jaskier was full of passion, and Geralt knew he wanted to let it loose, he just needed to be…helped along.

So.

Geralt quietly and secretly squeezed some of the lube still on the bed beside him onto his fingers. With one arm still wrapped around Jaskier the other moved down, dipping between Jaskier’s arse cheeks, before one finger slid smoothly into his hole.

Jaskier gasped and shuddered into his neck, a loud groan escaping him, “Oh fuck Geralt!”, he slid forward deeper in a sharp thrust, and Geralt let out a grunt of a groan as he did, which just made Jaskier fuck into him again, and now, now they were getting somewhere.

“Thought you’d like that.” Geralt whispered hotly in his ear, and Jaskier groaned loudly as another finger was added, pushing as far in as they could go from this angle, moving inside him so expertly.

Jaskier plunged forward into him at every thrust of those fingers, and oh if Jaskier was red in the face before it was nothing to the flush all the way down his neck and shoulders now. He ravished Geralt’s lips, so many breathy moans escaping him at the feel of those thick thighs clamping him around the waist, those fingers fucking him, that such tight heat around his cock oh _fuck!_ Jaskier was going to lose his mind already. And the fact that all of this was Geralt, _his_ Geralt.

“Ohmfff, fuck!” Jaskier moaned loudly against his lips, before he scrunched up his face in pure pleasure and buried his head once more at Geralt’s neck as he fucked him, and fucked him, and _fucked_ him!

If he’d looked up he would have seen an equal blush finally making it’s way down Geralt’s throat, finally letting the pleasure wash over him, Jaskier so hot and hard inside him and every hard fuck into him making his legs both tighten around him and tremble at the same time. Jaskier moaned so loudly against his neck, overpowering the small moans Geralt was making, more than he’d ever made before, unable to stop them now. It really did feel incredible now, and feeling Jaskier lose himself, knowing he was feeling so good because of Geralt, oh it was like a competition between the two of them, who could give the other more pleasure first? It was a competition that would be impossible to lose either way.

“Geralt I’m, oh…urgghh, Ge-, fuck, mmfff…”

Still a man of few words, Geralt knew his next idea would have a reaction, and he clasped Jaskier’s hair in his hand tightly, pulling his head up, making that panting, moaning face look at him as he pressed their lips together and moaned gruffly against them, “Fuck me, Jaskier.”

At the same time he curled his fingers inside him brushing hard against those nerves, and Jaskier practically jolted forward, letting out the deepest, wildest groan and smashing their lips together as he fucked him hard. Any shyness or worry about hurting him was well out the window now, and this is what Geralt wanted. Jaskier was lost to the pleasure coming from all angles, he was now rough and desperate, fucking into him with such force the bed beneath them was complaining, a lot.

Jaskier knew there was no chance he was lasting for long, his entire body felt like it was on fire, like he was melting into Geralt’s heat, and he grabbed Geralt’s cock between them and began frantically tugging at it. He wanted him to come, he wanted to make him come by fucking him only but by gods he was going to have to build up his stamina to Geralt’s level if he was ever going to do that.

The touch to his cock made Geralt shiver with sudden extra pleasure, a combined pleasure he hadn’t felt before, and oh Jaskier was hitting that spot inside on every frantic plunge forward now and fuck, okay, Geralt could feel his orgasm curling quickly inside him now.

“Jaskier, you’re…uhh….you feel so good.”

Oh it felt weird to talk aloud but he knew Jaskier loved the words, and he was rewarded with Jaskier almost screaming into his neck as his entire body convulsed, shuddering forward in spurts of movement as he fucked every drop of come deep inside Geralt as far as it would go. He still fucked him for a bit longer, letting his spent cock go a little limp still inside him.

He panted desperately into Geralt’s neck, “You…I didn’t…you still…”

Oh it was such a familiar scene, so like their very first time together when Jaskier had come too soon and all he was worried about was Geralt.

But Geralt just slid his fingers out of Jaskier, placed his aching legs flat on the bed and picked Jaskier’s hips up with ease. In his boneless state Jaskier sank down on top of Geralt ‘s still hard cock so easily, and Geralt fucked up into him, Jaskier lying flat against him so exhausted, but now moaning again so loudly.

It didn’t take many thrusts up into him for Geralt to come, he’d already been so close, and Jaskier let out the most delicious groan as he felt Geralt’s hot come drip out of his hole as he pulled out.

“Geralt…” Jaskier panted against his chest where he was still collapsed and barely moving, “you have…without a doubt…ruined me for other men.”

Geralt grinned sleepily to himself, holding Jaskier tightly to him, and feeling so pleased that they’d done this.

And it would only ever be with Jaskier.

“Hmmmm. Good.”

* * *

The following morning had Jaskier in the pool, the water splashing around them as Geralt fucked into him, Jaskier leaning back on his elbows at the edge as the water took his weight where he’d wrapped his legs around Geralt’s waist. That position, and fucking into him from behind as he tried to grip onto the slippery edge, and by the time Jaskier had come three times they were happily cuddled together on a towel drying off in the sun, Jaskier finally getting what he’d wanted. And then some.

They only tried it one more time that week with Jaskier fucking Geralt, but he still didn’t quite manage to make Geralt come just by fucking him alone.

“Your fucking stamina Geralt _what the hell_!” Jaskier had complained.

“Why don’t you work out in the gym with me?” Geralt had suggested quite innocently.

“Nope, no point.”

“Why not?”

“Because I’d just get turned on watching you work out and then we’d end up having sex every time on every bit of that weird gym equipment in all the weird positions they’d put us in and why the fuck am I complaining about this let’s go right now!”

Geralt had laughed. He was getting so used to laughing now.

One thing he had not laughed about however was when he returned home from a job one day only to feel his newly obtained and well-loved soul shoot straight up and out of him in a blind panic. Opening the door to the penthouse he saw two strangers sitting on the sofa facing the far windows. His immediate first instinct was to grab the gun nestled in the waistband of his trousers behind him, but then Jaskier suddenly came bouncing round the corner with a somewhat strained happy expression on his face.

“Geralt! My _parents_ are here, they wanted to meet you!”

Jaskier’s eyes were wide and staring at him with a look that clearly said he was as shocked as Geralt was at them suddenly arriving out of the blue. Geralt’s eyes flicked rapidly between the two people now getting up off the sofa and turning towards him, and Jaskier’s nervous grin beside him.

“You told them where I live?!” he whispered in an angry aside to him.

“Of _course_ I did!” Jaskier whispered back harshly, “You think they’d let me move out if they didn’t know where I was? They’re my parents!”

“What do they know about me?” He asked quickly trying not to move his lips so it didn’t seem like he was having a rapid panicked conversation with their son as they approached.

“Bodyguard that’s aaaAAAALL _MUM_! _Dad_! This is Geralt!”

Jaskier had told Geralt back at the restaurant that day that he’d taken after his mother in his personality, namely one that was rather wild and free and didn’t really think before making decisions (though that had been Geralt’s add on after hearing about her staying in Poland to be with his father shortly after meeting). 

Well that wasn’t the only similar aspect.

If she was the same age as Jaskier they could have been twins. The eyes, the hair, the height, it was like looking at an older female Jaskier. Her hair was much longer, resting around her shoulders in chestnut waves, but her blue eyes sparkled just as much as her sons. Geralt couldn’t help but notice the rather generous size of her bosom either, especially not with the slender and rather tight white shirt with the few buttons at the top un-done showing off a rather impressive cleavage.

Geralt wanted to laugh. Jaskier _really did_ take after her in every possible way.

“Geralt,” she said with a winning smile, one that also looked exactly like Jaskier’s, and held out her hand for him to take, “My aren’t you a specimen. I’ve been wanting to meet the man who could whisk our Julian out from under us so quickly.”

Despite the initial amusement of her and Jaskier’s similarities (even the flirting game was strong), Geralt had to remember that she and the…very stern looking husband beside her, were both extremely talented psychologists. Geralt definitely had enough of his own deep psychological trauma to give them both work fodder for the rest of their careers, and in a panic of not wanting to show anything that might make them think he wasn’t right for their son, that might make them insist Jaskier leave or that Geralt was a danger to him or...or any number of the ridiculous events he was concocting in his own head at the speed of light, all he could say as he took her hand to shake was;

“Hmm.”

Jaskier almost face palmed beside them.

* * *

The four of them ended up sitting opposite each other at the dining table, teas and coffees all round, and Jaskier’s parents asking Geralt so many questions he felt like he was being analysed like a would-be employee in a job interview. Jaskier’s father couldn’t be more opposite from his mother. Quiet, rather foreboding, and an apparent permeant frown to his face. Although he let his wife do most of the talking when he did ask something it was said in the tone of someone wanting to wipe Geralt off the sole of his shoe.

His wife however, was enamoured with Geralt.

“So Geralt tell us about yourself, where did you grow up, what do your parents do, tell tell Julian has barely told us anything.”

“Um...I…didn’t know my parents.”

“Oohhhh,” the mother cooed at him, leaning over the table so her breasts squashed together, and honestly is was very difficult not to look at them, “Orphan?”

“Sure.” Geralt replied. He wasn’t opening that can of worms.

“Well what did your adoptive parents do?” asked the father, his English absolutely perfect, “I’m assuming you were adopted? Or was it fostering? Did you have any childhood issues because of it?”

Geralt glanced to his left where Jaskier was sitting beside him. Oh he was _so_ far out of his comfort zone. Meeting the parents? _Really_?! And _these_ questions? Jaskier placed a hand on his knee under the table and squeezed it, hoping it gave him some form of comfort. _You can do this,_ the squeeze said.

Geralt wasn’t sure which question to lie about first, “They...were…sales…people.” Geralt struggled.

Selling drugs and stolen equipment, sure, so it wasn’t entirely a lie.

“Where did you say you were educated?” the father suddenly asked, and Geralt was very aware at how un-eloquent he was being, and just how much Jaskier’s father was looking at him in a way that was a waste of time for him being here.

“Er, I didn’t.”

He gave Geralt a look as if to say, _and?_

“Err, I went to…um…” Geralt racked his brain for a name of a school, after all, telling them he never actually went to any school and all his education came from a variety of drugs dealers and thieves was not exactly doing to go down very well “...W-Westminster school.”

It was the one closest to him here, he thought.

The father however raised his eyebrows, “Really? You? You don’t seem the type to have come out of that high class school.”

Geralt was the only one that heard the tiniest of grumbled growls come from Jaskier beside him.

“Oh hush dear don’t be rude,” the mother said, patting him on the back of the hand, “he’s obviously done well for himself, affording a place like this.”

“Yes…as a _bodyguard_ , am I right? Doesn’t seem like that requires much education. Where did you go after Westminster?”

“Err-“

“What degrees do you have?”

“I-I…well..”

Suddenly Jaskier stood up, his chair scrapping back on the wooden flooring.

“ _Dad_ ,” he interrupted through clenched teeth, “can I have a word please?”

The dining room was a huge room, so Jaskier grabbed his father by the arm and walked him past the fireplace to the corner, where he switched back to his native Polish.

“Enough with the 20 questions you’re embarrassing him!” he declared in a hushed voice.

“Why would I be embarrassing him? I’m only asking how many degrees he has.”

“He doesn’t-!” Jaskier nearly shouted, before glancing to Geralt and lowering his voice, even knowing Geralt wouldn’t be able to understand what he was saying in Polish, “...he doesn’t have any degrees.”

His father blinked in surprise, and then his features rather surprisingly melted into one of affection, looking at his son fondly, “Oh Julian, you do this so often, you always fall for the looks. Haven’t I tried to teach you that you need to look for substance? You can do better than him.”

“ _Dad_ ,” there was that menacing sound through clenched teeth again, “there’s more to people than how many degrees they have.”

“When I met your mother she had four degrees under her belt, I found that very attractiv-“

“I am very well aware of how attractive my mothers degrees were you’ve told me several hundred times but I don’t _care_ about things like that! Geralt is a good man, he cares about me, _loves_ me, a lot. And I haven’t just fallen for him because of his looks, you’re right there are far more important things about a person and that includes more than what education they have.”

“Don’t you think you’re rushing into this relationship a little fast?” his father continued, apparently trying every angle to stomp down on them being together, “You’re already talking about _love_ Julian you barely know this man.“

“Didn’t you marry mum after one month of meeting?” Jaskier pointed out smugly, crossing his arms and thinking he’d won a point.

“Are you saying you want to marry him?” his father asked quickly, and Jaskier’s arms now immediately uncrossed as he blushed deeply and tried to splutter out a response.

“D-dad! You’re…you’re missing the point! Okay from your point of view Geralt may not be the smartest person on the planet but he’s smart in other ways, and he has a big heart, and isn’t it more important that he cares for me?”

“But what about your future? This singing career you have won’t last forever.”

“Oh thanks.” Jaskier pouted.

“You know what I mean Julian. With any luck you’ll always be able to do what you love, but what if you’re wrong? What if your fame fades? This boyfriend of yours may have money but that appears to be all he has, and that won’t last either. Don’t tell me you’re only here for his money Julian.”

“Fucking hell dad-“

“Don’t swear.”

“ _Look_.” Jaskier sighed dramatically, because for heavens sake his father was always like this. He knew he meant well but fuck he had such a blunt way about him. “I love Geralt. Just like you loved mum.” He said calmly, trying to get across how serious he was, “He is a good, kind man who treats me so well I sometimes feel like…like…” in trying to find the words, Jaskier’s face suddenly softened, for his father had already given him the words, “like I _could_ see us marrying.”

Wow, he…he really could too. The thought of being with Geralt for his whole life, forever, always having those strong arms around him, always feeling that loyal love and adorable awkward attempts at affection…and the mind-blowing orgasms, which kind of went without saying. He suddenly had images of them old and wrinkly, Jaskier’s hair just as white as Geralt’s, still arguing over curtain colours in their retirement bungalow in the country. Maybe there’d be a dog to walk. Maybe Geralt would angrily chase kids off their lawn, only for Jaskier to invite them back with tea and cakes and make the scary old man with the wild hair not look so scary at all, as Jaskier would braid flowers into that hair and tell the kids old stories of their adventures together in the world.

“ _Julian_.” Prompted his father, and Jaskier snapped back to reality.

“Um, yes, so don’t be prejudice just because he hasn’t gone to some high fancy school. He doesn’t deserve that.”

His dad watched him carefully, the suggestion of marriage and the day dream he went into afterwards not going unnoticed.

Eventually, he sighed, but it was with a smile, “I just don’t want you to have your heart broken. You’re so like your mother, both of you give your heart to everyone around you. I was lucky enough that I got to have the key to hers so…I hope he has the key to yours.” He sighed again, fondly, “He’s your choice son, and if you feel this strongly about him then I suppose I can only relate, but I’m warning you, if he breaks your heart I don’t care that he’s twice the size of me I _will_ punch him.”

Jaskier grinned, widely and thankfully, “Thanks dad. But don’t punch him, he probably wouldn’t feel it anyway and you’d just break your hand.”

His father huffed and smiled, and then took his arm, pulling him in for a hug.

“By the way,” Jaskier said while hugging him, “as much as I appreciate the overprotective dad speech, I’m more surprised you haven’t mentioned the fact that…you know, Geralt’s a _guy_.”

His dad let him go and just looked at him like he’d said the most obvious statement in the world, “Julian, you have two psychologists as parents, both of whom deal with family issues where coming to terms with the acceptance of a childs sexuality is something that crops up often. I’m fairly sure we knew you were pansexual before you did.”

Jaskier blinked at him, “Wait, I’m pan-sexual?”

“Yes son, you are.”

His father then turned back to his wife and Geralt, Jaskier still standing there blinking at the wall thinking that actually…his dad was right, he did love everyone no matter what they had downstairs or upstairs or anywhere else!

He grinned a crooked grin, heh, not that it mattered anymore, he only wanted Geralt.

When he also turned back to the dining table he saw his mother, sitting on Geralt’s lap, hands in his hair, fussing over the unique colour and then cupping his face to look at his golden eyes.

Geralt peered at Jaskier with a look on his face that was an absolute desperate plea for help, the mothers breasts barely an inch from his face.

Jaskier rolled his eyes, and switched back to English, “Mum, get off my boyfriends lap and stop flirting in front of your husband.”

“I’m not flirting I’m analysing!” she insisted, pouting as she reluctantly got up off Geralt’s lap.

“You’re flirting dear.” Said the father, sitting back down at the table as if the entire scene in front of him was nothing new.

Weirdly, Geralt suddenly had a vision of him and Jaskier in the same situation, in a café perhaps, Jaskier flirting with the woman at the table next to them and Geralt just rolling his eyes because it was all so normal. 

He watched as the mother sat back down, smiling smitten at her husband as she took his hand, before turning back to her son to ask how things had been living here.

In his fantasy Jaskier did the same thing, taking his hand, grinning at him so happily leaving the girl alone and his entire attention back on Geralt. It happened in reality too, Jaskier sitting back down next to Geralt and taking his hand as he told his mother he was having a great time here, and then began gushing about Geralt in such flowery loving words Geralt could feel his ears turning pink. He glanced up at the father.

He was smiling at him.

He didn’t know what Jaskier had said to him, but whatever it was it must have been good. To be honest, Geralt had been too busy trying to hold back his erection at the sound of Jaskier talking in his own native language. He’d never actually heard him speak Polish before, and the words fell from his lips so effortlessly and smoothly and fuck…yeah, an erection would have been a bit difficult to talk away what with Jaskier’s mother sliding onto his lap. 

That would have been a very awkward conversation.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yes I went there. Yes there were hints throughout the story leading up to it. Yes I'm aware sub!Geralt is not everyones cup of tea but I'm hoping I wrote it in a way that still makes it feel like he was in charge. Anyway, the next chapter is where things start getting real. The next chapter is the wedding.
> 
> As usual please leave a comment I need them like air <3<3<3


	12. “You all believe you’re untouchable.”

“Remain calm when you see him.”

“I will.”

“Under no circumstances will you attack him until the plan starts.”

“I _got_ it.” She growled.

“Can I rely on you to do your job? You are there to protect _me_ if anything should go wrong.”

“I signed a contract didn’t I?”

Cahir looked her over. Renfri stood there, small and deadly, grasping a short black dress in her hand that Cahir had just bought her for the wedding, scrunching the fabric in her fist and not giving a shit about it.

“You will have your chance to get your revenge.” Cahir stated calmly, “You’ve waited this long, just be patient a little more.”

* * *

“Oh Geralt,” Jaskier moaned heavily into the kiss, arms wrapped around his neck, “how do you expect me to survive for three whole days without you?”

Geralt smiled against his lips, his arms around his waist with one hand sneaking up under his shirt, feeling that soft warm skin that he was going to miss touching so much, “I’m sure you’ll be fine.”

“No I won’t,” Jaskier complained, kissing his lips again and again, “I’ll wither away without your touch, I’ll fade into nothing without these lips, I’ll fall into the deepest darkest abyss without your hands and your _cock_ bringing me to absolute blissful-“

“Jaskier,” Geralt interrupted with a smirk, “stop being so dramatic.”

“Uh! My dearest Geralt you _wound_ me! You may as well ask me to stop breathing for I’m just as unable to do that either!”

Geralt looked over that cheeky little face so fondly, “You’ll be alright, besides,” he kissed his lips softly, teasing his tongue on his bottom lip, before whispering huskily into his ear, “I promise to ravish every inch of you when I get back.”

Jaskier let out a whimpering moan, “Ohhhh, only if I get to do the same to you.” He then took the shell of Geralt’s ear into his mouth and bit it gently.

A low rumble came up from Geralt’s chest, one that was agreeing mostly heartily with that statement, “Mmmm, now I’ve really got to g- _Jaskier_!” Geralt chuckled in exasperation, as Jaskier suddenly dropped to his knees, hands on Geralt’s trouser fly.

“Just one more taste, that’s all I ask.” He said quickly, as he drew out Geralt’s cock and immediately began to suck around the head.

Geralt’s breath hitched and he shook his head softly in feigned annoyance, a fond smile to his lips. He placed a hand at the back of Jaskier’s head, running it through that silky hair, gasping quietly as Jaskier put that tongue of his to excellent use.

He was already running late, what would a bit longer change?

* * *

Because of the little extra goodbye he got Geralt ended up being extremely late arriving to Yennefer’s home. She just rolled her eyes when she’d asked him why he was late, for he had taken such a long time to think up an excuse he’d just stood there utterly silent and staring at her while slowly looking more and more panicked. She guessed it was something to do with his singing lover.

She wasn’t going to point out the love bite on his neck.

Geralt was due to be with her for three days, one day before and one day after the wedding, as it was around events like these that sometimes things may ‘happen’, someone from a rival family trying something they shouldn’t because they didn’t want to them attend. Both of their minds were on Cahir to be the one to try something. As it happened though the first day remained quiet, and Geralt didn’t do much but remain by Yennefer’s side as she had her attendants organise her dress and accessories for tomorrow, and planning the route with her limo driver avoiding all known locations owned by the Nilfgaards, just to be sure.

She also ran over with Geralt the names and current situations all families attending, and there were a lot. The Venderberg’s and the Cintra’s were the biggest, but there were plenty of others who picked up the smaller jobs, it was why having the Nilfgaard’s trying to take her life was just more of an annoyance, a fly buzzing around a lion, and they hadn’t tried anything else since Yennefer had dropped the dead body of their last assassination attempt at their estate of flats in the east of the city. They owned quite a few rundown apartment buildings, filled with drug users and their own small workforce and family members. Nothing compared to the high end sophisticated and rotten to the core millionaire clients Yennefer had, and the practical empire the Cintra’s had.

That night, as he lay in the large empty bed in the guest room, Geralt found himself unable to sleep, or at least nothing more the three hours he used to have before Jaskier came into his life. It seemed having Jaskier to sleep next to, to hold, feeling that warmth and his gentle breathing, it made him relax, made him sleep better. Without him here, he was…cold. Alone. He’d almost forgotten what that felt like, and he didn’t like it anymore. The bed was too big, the room too quiet. Jaskier would always be nattering on until the last possible minute.

He took out his phone, debating whether or not to phone him and be done with it. He’d always instructed Jaskier never to phone him while on a job, mainly because it would be sods law the phone would ring at a highly inopportune or dangerous moment and distract Geralt. In the case of tonight, any incoming or outgoing phone calls were monitored from Yennefer’s home, even ones on mobiles or text messages.

As he was thinking it, his phone suddenly started vibrating, and JASKIER came up on the screen.

“Hmm.” He murmured fondly, his little lark never did pay attention to instructions very much, but as he was only lying here alone in bed he decided to answer it, “I thought I told you not to call me?” he said, with no anger in his voice at all.

He could hear Jaskier giggle the other end, “What’cha wearing Geralt?” he purred down the phone.

Geralt chuckled, “These phone calls are monitored Jaskier, you really want some poor security guy listening in on this?”

“I’m wearing nothing but a vibrating dildo up my arse.”

A strange strangled sound emitted from the back of Geralt’s throat. He took the phone away from his ear and held it flat against his chest for a moment, to try and realign his brain as that image suddenly filled every cell in his body.

_What the fuck Jaskier?! Really?!_

He took a deep, calming breath, and put the phone back to his ear, “I’ve been away one day and you’ve bought a dildo?”

“Yup! As close as I could get to your size, which they couldn’t do without having it specially made. You officially have a ‘made to order’ cock Geralt.”

Geralt could practically hear the grin, and he shook his head, the smile unable to leave his face, “May I remind you there is someone listening in on this call?”

“Mmmmm Geralt…ohh this feels soooo good…though I still wish it was you inside me instead.”

“Jaskier…” Geralt breathed slowly, voice low and heavy, biting his own lip at hearing the faint vibration in the background, “I can’t do this, I’ve got to go.”

“Ohhhh,” Jaskier whined, but then the little shit let out a deliberately long, loud moan down the phone, his breath hitching, followed by another gloriously loud groan of Geralt’s name.

Geralt was using up every drop of willpower he had not to let his blood rush to his cock at those sounds and the delicious imagery it brought forth, “I’m hanging up Jaskier.”

Funny how he kept saying that but didn’t actually end the call.

“You know this comes with a little remote control.” Jaskier huffed down the phone, “Can you imagine what it would feel like for me to control what it does while its inside you as you fuck me?”

“Fucking _Christ_ -“

Geralt hung up the phone fast, his cock now straining hard against his boxer shorts and all willpower now drowning in lust. How the ever-loving _fuck_ was he supposed to sleep now?! And now he had _this_ to get rid of. Was it bad to jerk off to your new boyfriend while in the spare bedroom of your ex-girlfriend? Geralt gripped his cock in his hand tightly, scrunching his eyes up closed as that fucking lasting image danced across his mind. He was going to have to, for there was no image in this world that could replace that and return him to normal.

“ _Fuck_ you Jaskier.” He growled, before letting out a slow sigh as his hand worked himself under the covers, “…I wish.” He whispered huskily.

He was gonna get Jaskier for this, somehow, and he hoped whoever had been listening in on that call was having a good laugh to himself now.

Jaskier certainly was, for at the other end of the now dead phone Jaskier was laughing his head off.

* * *

The wedding was taking place at the Cintra estate, and in their case _estate_ did not mean aging grey flats, but a huge mansion on the edge of the city, acres of lush green grounds and actual peacocks littering the long white stoned driveway leading up to the main building. Yennefer didn’t have any direct family, but had plenty of cousins, and they had all arrived before her. Yennefer liked to make a flashy appearance and being on time wasn’t flashy. 

Her limo pulled up behind the car in front, a valet waiting to drive it off somewhere else. Geralt got out first, then held out his hand for her to exit the limo. She took it, appearing from the car like a movie star. Her dress was a deep purple silk, long and slender and smooth, with a plunging neckline and her usual large slit up the side to show off her legs. It had tiny red rubies sewn in around that neckline, along with a necklace of clear diamonds and amethysts, all real, all looking very heavy and very, _very_ expensive. Geralt looked smart in his own suit, normal black with a normal white shirt, nothing fancy as he was not here to show off, but good enough that he blended in with all the others. The hair framing his face was in its usual tied back position, the rest of it hanging loose past his shoulders.

The one thing he wasn’t wearing though is the one thing that made him feel naked, and that was his gun. No weapons were allowed, everyone left their violent intentions at home, and just to make sure there was a thorough check of every single guest and every single gift they brought for the couple before they were allowed through. Body pats and metal detectors and men so huge as guards they made Geralt look small. The Cintra’s were the most well-off family, and they could afford to show off exactly how rich they were.

Had Geralt led a normal life, his anti-social self would have found weddings awkward and uncomfortable, wondering why on earth he agreed to an invite. As a bodyguard however, it was a nightmare. As a bodyguard for a crime family wedding, it was even worse than a nightmare. 

Geralt followed along one step behind Yennefer as she mingled with the other guests, her charm being turned up to 100% as she maneuvered her way through the sea of vipers. She was able to be relaxed and smiling because it was Geralt’s job not to be. Every single person that surrounded them was a threat, every single glance of an eye or sudden movement or step too close could mean the start of a chain of events that would have Geralt risking his life. Just because there were no weapons didn’t mean things couldn’t get physical, or other normal items around them couldn’t suddenly become a weapon. His own eyes glanced everywhere, over everyone, taking in every face every expression, his mind running through its list of names matching them to each person.

They wandered outside into the gardens where many other guests were gathered, and ahead of them was Calanthe, the head of the Cintra’s, talking to her soon to be married daughter, Pavetta, who wore a dress so magnificent it actually hurt Geralt’s eyes took at her, what with the sun shining off every diamond sewn into the glorious white dress. They were obviously busy, so Yennefer simply nodded polity to Calanthe who nodded back, not pausing in her conversation. Being the main rivals they were bound to have a full and interesting conversation after the wedding. 

Calanthe’s own bodyguard, Mousesack, was standing nearby. The man grinned at Geralt. They’d bumped into each other quite a few times over the years. He was a surprisingly friendly man, considering who he protected, and although he was getting on in years Geralt wouldn’t want to test which one of them was better at their jobs. Behind the smile that man had a past just as dark as everyone else here.

As they passed Geralt saw Pavetta’s small daughter, Ciri, tugging on her grandmother’s dress. She was dressed in her own lovely gown, obviously going to be a bridesmaid for her mother.

“Is he here yet is here yet?!” she was saying excitedly.

“Not yet dear, he’ll arrive for the party after the ceremony.”

This wedding had been a long time coming. The man Pavetta was marrying, Duny, was Ciri’s father, but their relationship had been kept secret for many, many years. Calanthe had not approved of him, he was nothing, just a normal man, no links to the crime world, and Calanthe had wanted her daughter to marry someone of substance, someone who could protect her in this world. After many more years of persistent dedication and love and Duny not caring who they were and what he was getting involved with, Calanthe reluctantly conceded. She could see how happy her daughter was with him, and in the end perhaps that was the most important thing, so had finally agreed for them to marry.

Thinking about it, they reminded Geralt a little of Jaskier and himself.

There wasn’t that much time before the wedding for socialising, so they soon found themselves seated under the large canopy outside, their reserved seats near the front as a sign of respect from the Cintra’s, watching Pavetta walk down the aisle arm in arm with her step-father, Eist, and Ciri holding her trail behind her. No one would ever suspect everyone here was a rival, there were smiles and applause and whispers of how beautiful the bride looked, there were even tears from some at the end as Duny kissed her after their vows, and the music from the live band suddenly soared louder as they walked happily back down the aisle. 

As Geralt and Yennefer rose from their seats with the others to follow behind, Geralt noticed at the very back sat Cahir, who was the only one not watching the happy couple walk past him. His eyes were staring straight at Yennefer. Geralt narrowed his own eyes, if anyone here was going to cause trouble it would be him, but then a moment of surprise passed over them instead when he noticed the woman in the black dress standing beside him. She was staring directly at Geralt. She was short and…well, very cute really, but it was a first impression that was fleeting for the icy stare she was giving him was so uncalled for Geralt couldn’t get rid of the shock on his face.

He didn’t know this woman, why was she looking at him with such venom?

As Geralt and Yennefer made their way down the aisle followed by the other guests, this woman glared at him so venomously as he walked past. Geralt made eye contact with her, a look of mild confusion on his face, and now closer he could see this cuteness was hiding something far stronger. She had what could only be described as an aura, one he recognised immediately for it he had a very similar one himself. Whoever she was, she’d been through something bad, something that made her eyes look both terrified and terrifying all at the same time. He nodded to her, feeling a need to show her respect, but her response was to grit her teeth, her glare deepening, and suddenly Cahir had his hand on her arm, holding her very tightly, letting his own slimy smile greet Geralt instead.

Geralt was very confused, and did not return Cahir’s smile.

“Hmmm.” He muttered as they passed out of ear shot.

“What is it?” Yennefer whispered, not noticing them having been the other side of Geralt and looking at the other guests.

“Cahir’s here.”

Yennefer glanced at him, and then behind her, before tutting under her breath, “He’s a fool.”

Geralt would keep an eye on him, and that strange woman. There may be no weapons here, but who could trust a man who had twice tried to kill Yennefer and once himself. It was his men that had shot him after all.

The guests and the newly married couple then moved into the huge dining hall inside the mansion. A room so huge it took eight massive crystal chandeliers hanging from the high ceiling to light it, along with many sconces along the walls. Long tables were set out with food with chefs set up behind them, a hundred round tables all seating at least six people were patterned across the floorspace, and there was laughter and talking and soft guitar music floating through the air. Waiters and waitresses moved silently through the crowds, holding trays of canapés and glasses of champagne. The happy couple were mingling with their friends and acquaintances, accepting gifts and generally basking in the attention.

Yennefer was still schmoozing with everyone she came across, and her tongue was just as sharp as theirs. Geralt found it so intriguing how these people could appear to be having a very friendly conversation on the outside, and yet somehow every single word that came from their mouth was also an insult. Geralt as usual remained silent, he was not here to talk, he just continued watching every movement, which was difficult considering how crowded it was. He gave a respectful nod to any other bodyguard he saw. The only guards allowed were the personal ones belonging to the head of each family, so even if you didn’t know who the heads were you could tell by the anxious and alert person following directly behind them.

That guitar music was getting louder. Closer.

“Go on, explain to me how _stuff works_.” Yennefer’s smiling façade was fading rapidly with the young man she was currently talking to, who had decided that approaching Yennefer and suggesting she marry so her business could be run by her husband was a bright idea to do, after all that kind of _business stuff_ needed a mans touch to work well, “Explain to me how the two most successful families are run by women? Explain how you _dare_ approach me with-“

“Geralt!”

Geralt did a double take. Suddenly there was Jaskier, appearing beside the man and grinning with surprise.

“Are you following me you scamp? I’m flattered but you really need a hobby.”

Without a second thought Jaskier wrapped one arm around Geralt’s neck, the other holding his guitar, and kissed him. The utter shock had Geralt frozen against the kiss, the only thought going through his head was _fuck_ after all his talk to convince himself it couldn’t possibly be the same wedding Jaskier was _fucking here??_!!! This wasn’t happening! Where the hell did he just come from no no no no _shit_ no he can’t be here!!

“I missed you last night you know.” Jaskier said, voice low, seemingly oblivious to the unresponsive kiss, “In fact I missed you _several_ times, if you know what I mean.” He teased with a wink, “Did you err… _miss_ me?”

Geralt’s shock gave way to panic coursing through every vein, his heart sinking rapidly, and an annoying unwanted flush rising to his cheeks at that question. His eyes darted rapidly between Jaskier and Yennefer, who was watching them and had raised her eyebrows rather high at that last remark too.

“Jaskier what the _fuck_ are you doing here?!” he finally exclaimed, urgently but quietly.

“What do you mean what am I doing here? This is the wedding I told you about! More importantly what are _you_ doing here? I thought you were supposed to be…with…” Jaskier trailed off, when he finally noticed the fearsomely gorgeous woman standing beside him.

Jaskier looked to her, looked to Geralt, looked to her, and then gave them a slow, wide grin that looked half excited, half terrified.

“Oohhhh you’re…you must be…you’re Yennefer aren’t you? _Wow_ , an actual crime boss!” he said, rather too excitedly, “I imagined you to be……scarier? Okay well yeah ex-girlfriend meets current boyfriend this won’t be awkward,” he quickly mumbled under his breath, though they all heard it, “Hello!” he then said brightly, holding out his hand to her, “Julian Alfred Pankratz, at your service! Well not literally at your service, I mean I didn’t just agree for you to send me off to hurt anyo-“

“ _Jaskier_!” Geralt barked at him.

Jaskier grinned nervously, and shut up. 

His hand had still not been taken.

Yennefer looked down to it as though he was holding out a frog for her to take, before she turned back to the man who had been insulting her, _“Why are you still here?!”_ she shouted in his face, and he started and then turned, skulking away.

“Okay so she’s a bit scary.” Jaskier whispered very quietly to Geralt.

“I hear you go by a different name.” Yennefer then turned to Jaskier, but still did not take his hand, and he slowly dropped it back to his side.

“Um, yeah…I guess Geralt must have told you it’s Jaskier.”

“Yes, how…exotic. Now I’m all for Geralt being happy with a new partner,” she said, before glaring up at Geralt, “but you _invited him to the wedding?!”_

Geralt stared at her in disbelief, “I didn’t…he didn’t…” he stumbled, looking between the two of them, before growling under his breath in frustration and grabbing Jaskier’s upper arm hard, with an equally hard glare at him. He threw Yennefer an apologetic look and then dragged Jaskier away, although not too far, he had to remain near Yennefer after all.

“Jaskier do you have any idea where you are?!”

“She is very sexy Geralt I’ll give you that,” Jaskier said, still looking round Geralt at Yennefer watching them, “but she does give off the whole _I will eat you_ feel, and not in a good way.”

“Jaskier!” Geralt shook him by the shoulders, and Jaskier finally turned his attention to his obviously distressed lover.

“What?” he said innocently.

“You have to leave!”

Jaskier laughed, “Why on earth would I want to leave? Do you have any idea how much I’ve eaten here oh my gods let me tell you the food is _divine_ -“

“Jaskier _listen to me_!” Geralt looked around them quickly, before leaning further towards him, “The woman who gave you the money, is that her?” he pointed subtly to Calanthe, talking a little further away from them, and Jaskier nodded.

“Yeah.”

He was afraid he’d say that.

“Fuck. Jaskier she’s the head of the most _dangerous_ crime family of them all, far worse than Yennefer.” He whispered urgently, “This is her _daughter’s_ wedding, every single guest here is a criminal and here you are in the middle of it all!”

“What?” Jaskier said softly, eyes going wide.

But Geralt knew him, and started shaking his head, “No don’t you dare-“

Grin. Yep, Jaskier was grinning, and Geralt sighed in annoyance as Jaskier looked around the room with eager excitement, “Really? Everyone here? I’ve been giving out autographs! Wow I’ve gotta eavesdrop more on these conversations the stories in this room must be amaz-“

Geralt physically put his hand over Jaskier’s mouth, and then leant in _very_ close, “You don’t talk about listening in on criminal activity when you’re _surrounded by criminals_!” he whispered harshly, “You need to leave! This is dangerous!”

Jaskier let out a humming noise behind Geralt’s hand, and Geralt slowly lowered it, “Okay okay I got it, inappropriate reaction, but I’m not leaving.” Geralt looked as though he was about to quietly yell at him again so Jaskier got in quick, “Look no one here has been even the slightest bit hostile towards me, a lot of people know me already, I’ve had song requests, played for small groups of them as I’ve been wandering around, they’ve all been lovely. I don’t feel in danger, no ones been threatening-“

“Things can change.”

“I’m sure they can, but I’ll be extra careful alright? I won’t go snooping around, I’ll just do what I’m being paid to do and leave at the end. Okay?”

“No it’s not okay!” What did he have to say to get him to understand?! “I won’t be able to concentrate with you here! I have to protect Yennefer, I can’t watch you at the same time and with you here that’s all I’m going to be able to do!”

“Awww.” Jaskier cooed adorably, but his face immediately fell when he finally saw just how serious Geralt was being, and the fact his glare was only deepening. He sighed. “Look, you’re being paid to look after her, I’m being paid to entertain here. I’ll just keep out the way so you don’t see me maybe that’ll help.”

“No!” Geralt grabbed his arm again, holding him tightly, “You’re staying where I can see you.”

“But I thought you just said-“

_“I know what I said!!”_

Jaskier looked at him. Geralt was conflicted and panicked and angry and frightened all in one, and it was confusing the hell out of him, Jaskier could tell. So he smiled at him softly, calmly. He knew he was just being protective, but there had been absolutely no hint that this place was full of dangerous people until Geralt had told him, it was just a normal, if very extravagant wedding. Even criminals were happy at weddings. So Jaskier raised his hand slowly, gently stroking the backs of his fingers across Geralt’s cheek.

“Geralt, I understand what you’re saying. But if that woman is who you say she is do you really want me to make her angry by just suddenly leaving?”

Geralt looked all over his face, taking in the calm look, the seriousness finally setting in, “…no.” he said sulkily.

Jaskier just smiled gently again and leant forward, capturing his lips slowly, comfortingly, letting him know he wasn’t scared and that he got what Geralt was saying.

“I’ll do my job, and you do yours,” he said as they parted, and Geralt kept his eyes closed just that little bit longer, “and at the end we’ll both leave. Nothing’s going to happen. I understand what you’re warning me about so I promise I’ll behave.” He said with a small playful smile to try and lighten the mood.

Geralt wanted to argue, wanted to say fuck what Calanthe wanted Jaskier was far, _far_ more important, but…Jaskier was also right.

“Hmm.” Geralt grumbled, his own way of saying he was reluctantly conceding.

If Calanthe had personally requested Jaskier, and already paid him in part, just leaving would make her angry, and the last thing any of them needed was a bullseye painted on Jaskier’s back for the head of the Cintra’s to throw knifes at.

“Just _please_ be careful.” he begged him instead.

“I will.” Suddenly there was a small squeal of delight as Ciri came running up to them. Jaskier grinned down at her. “Besides I have my escort here taking care of me, isn’t that right?”

Pavetta had insisted Ciri eat something from the buffet table and stop pestering Jaskier as he went around singing and playing his guitar and generally surprising people that he was even there. He’d had a lot of surprised squeals from quite a few women, kissed many a cheek, been glared at by many a husband….hmm, perhaps he should stop doing that if they were all criminals.

All but this one of course, as Ciri radiated with excitement and took his hand, “This way! My mum wants to show you off to her friends!”

“She’s been following me around since I got here,” Jaskier whispered to Geralt as Ciri pulled on his arm, “isn’t she cute?” he beamed at him, before being dragged away, “See ya later! No ones gonna do anything with a kid here so stop worrying!” he called out behind him through the crowd.

Geralt didn’t like this one bit, and his fists clenched at his sides, eyes scanning the crowd around Jaskier as he went.

“Finished with your little domestic?” Yennefer enquired, walking up beside Geralt and watching Jaskier slowly disappear.

For a moment Geralt had genuinely forgot she was here, and this is exactly why Jaskier needed to leave, he was not going to be able to focus on his job.

“My apologies Yennefer” Geralt said respectfully, “I wasn’t aware he was here. Now I’m just…” he trailed off, he didn’t want to discuss Jaskier with her, of all people.

“Worried for him?” she suggested.

Geralt glanced to her, and reluctantly nodded.

“He’ll be perfectly safe here.”

That was a new voice, and he turned to his left to now see Calanthe standing right beside him. He started at her sudden appearance and made to back away more towards Yennefer, his bodyguard instincts kicking in. He then inclined his head polity to her.

“Forgive me, but does everyone know about Jas-Julian, and myself?”

“My granddaughter is very big fan of his.” Calanthe began, “You should see her bedroom in the west wing, every wall is covered with his posters, print outs, anything with his face on it she has it. Including certain paparazzi photos of you two arm and arm with each other. It’s very…” she crinkled her nose, partly in amusement, partly in slight disgust at the word she was about to use, “…sweet. And yes, every single person in this entire hall knows you two are together. You’re our famous white wolf after all, and you haven’t exactly been subtle that you’re dating a celebrity. Doesn’t help that you’re kissing him in the middle of my hall with people staring at you both, very gutsy of you I’ll give you that.”

Geralt growled under his breath and looked away, another irritating flush rising to his cheeks. Great, this is exactly what he didn’t want to happen, and now panic was rising again. This gave way to an even higher chance of Jaskier being hurt by any number of people here just to get to Geralt. Was everyone talking about them behind their back? Was anyone here planning something all ready? This would be the perfect opportunity after all and-…and it would seem his panic was evident, for suddenly he could feel Yennefer’s hand on his arm. Gently. Reassuringly.

“But like I said,” Calanthe continued, Jaskier’s voice suddenly being heard from the distance where he was playing and singing to a new group of people, “there’s nothing to worry about, my granddaughter would never forgive me if anything happened to him. Anyway…” she turned to Yennefer, who dropped her arm back to her side, “what a pleasure it is to see you again Yennefer.” She nodded at her.

“Likewise, Calanthe.”

And there went the pleasant lies again, both of them shaking each other’s hands and not removing eye contact for a moment.

“I hear you’ve been having trouble with the Nilfgaards.” Calanthe continued as their hands released.

“No trouble, just an annoyance. Someone hasn’t learnt how things are done from _daddy_ yet.”

Calanthe chuckled, “That old man may be a fool for raising such a disrespectful brat but at least he knows where his family stands. I also hear it won’t be long before he’s dead, cancer is a nasty way to go. They’d never get me stuck in bed, I’ll be out there fighting and dying at the hands of an enemy before I waste away like that.”

“Agreed,” said Yennefer, “and I’ll keep that in mind.” She added slyly.

There was a pause, before a small smirk grew on both their lips.

“Remind me again, how did your parents die?” Calanthe asked, and Yennefer kept her smirk as she answered.

“Mysterious circumstances.”

Calanthe threw her head back with a bark of laughter, “Funny how many _mysterious_ _circumstances_ happen amongst inept family members. If I was Cahir’s mother I would have found my own mysterious circumstance with him years ago. Those that deserve death always find it in the end, he’ll make a mistake that’ll cost him his life, they always do.”

“Speaking of the moron…” Yennefer muttered, her eyes narrowing as Cahir approached them with an air of superiority, a glass of red wine swirling in one hand, that same woman from earlier behind him.

Geralt stood just that little bit in front of Yennefer, ensuring Cahir knew who stood between them should he try anything. Cahir gazed at him with an entirely bored expression, and Geralt’s eyes slid from Cahir’s face to the woman’s, who was still glaring at him so hard, and still just as silent.

“Cahir.” Yennefer greeted coldly, “Finished trying to kill me yet?”

A smug, unpleasant smile reached his lips, “Nothing personal Yennefer I hope you understand, it’s just business.”

“That’s not business Cahir, that’s just plain murder.” Calanthe said, just as Mousesack suddenly appeared from the shadows to stand beside her. He’d been there the whole time, but always had a knack of making himself melt away into the background until he was needed. “And as much as I approve of the removal of _useless people_ ,” she stared a little too hard directly at him, “it is not how our world works at the top. There is an order you must follow otherwise everything will fall apart, you know that.”

“Do I now?” Cahir gave her a hard smile, “Look at all these people,” he opened his arms wide at the huge crowds around them, “why do we need so many? Our business opportunities would be far more lucrative with a smaller market. Our kind has grown soft, my moronic father was one of them, bowing down to the mighty Venderberg and the mighty Cintra just because he wasn’t quite as profitable. A small fish in a big pond, but now the fish is dead, and a shark is taking over.”

Both Calanthe and Yennefer burst into laughter, continuous and hysterical, and a flush of red anger came up on Cahir’s cheeks.

“Quite the flair for the dramatic you have.” Calanthe managed to wheeze out as they tried to calm themselves, “So your fathers dead is he? How long do you think you will you last? A year? A month? A _day_?” she mocked, “You have no head for business Cahir, and your attempts at taking Yennefer’s life are laughable at best. And what happens if you succeed? Will it be you to fill the vacuum left by her death? Just snatch up all of her loyal workers just like that? What about the rest of her family? Or will it be _me_ next? Will you take down _every_ family here? Or would you like us to just bow down now and save you time?”

“You all believe you’re untouchable.” Cahir said darkly through clenched teeth, no longer smiling.

“And you believe that you’re better than us,” Yennefer said, “and that will be your final mistake. You Nilfgaard’s are nothing, and under your leadership they’re just going to get worse.”

“You carry on your pathetic attempts at destroying the hierarchy,” said Calanthe, “and when we’re no longer amused by your childish antics you will see what power the heads of true crime families hold, and not a bratty child throwing a tantrum because daddy wouldn’t let him play before.”

They had both expected him to back off, tail between his legs, but instead Cahir just smiled, widely, pressing his lips together as though trying to hold back his own laugh, before suddenly he turned to the woman beside him.

“Oh now where are my manners? I completely forgot to introduce my own new bodyguard, as I _am_ the head of the house now. This is Renfri. Charming young woman, utterly deadly and extremely loyal, aren’t you my dear?”

He took her hand and kissed the back of it, but Renfri just took a step forward closer to Geralt, having not looked at a single other person here.

“You’re the White Wolf.” It was a statement, not a question, and her voice was filled with held back anger, “Geralt Rivia. Butcherer… _murderer_.”

Geralt stared back at her, his brow creasing in a confused frown. Why did she seem so angry with him? Every single person here was a murderer. The more he looked at her, the more…he wasn’t sure… _did_ he know her? She wasn’t exactly familiar but…there was something about her, something that seemed to be from a far-off half remembered dream, or something. He tried to wrack his brain on where they could have met, but nothing came to mind.

“Yes,” Cahir smirked snidely, “well, he _was_. Tell us wolf, what does it feel like to be de-clawed and de-fanged?”

Geralt blinked at him, “Excuse me?”

“Well I would _assume_ that after sparing the lives of the nine men I sent to kill you that you _don’t like killing anymore_.” He said those last few words in a mocking, sing-song voice. “Not a great advertisement for making your employer seem strong and untouchable, or had she already castrated you before that?”

Why that little…

“You-“ Geralt growled, but Yennefer’s hand on his arm made him stop.

“Cahir, shut your pathetic little mouth.”

“Ohhhh letting her talk for you, so you _have_ lost your balls. Well I’ll tell you what else you’ve lost, _respect_. For you, the Venderberg’s, and anyone else who thought that keeping this man alive after such a pathetic display was a good idea. And _you_ ,” he said, looking to Calanthe, “you just said so yourself that you approve the removal of useless people, well the wolf is tamed, and not even _you_ took the opportunity with a broken-in guard dog to take her life. You just all carry on doing your little deals and having these little gatherings as if we’re all the best of friends. Well we’re not, and I think it’s time I fought fire…” he looked to Yennefer, a nasty spark in his eyes, “…with _fire_. Don’t you?”

Geralt didn’t like that look. He could suddenly feel the hairs on the back of his neck standing up. Something didn’t feel right. At just the mention of fire he was hearing those screams again, the heat from the warehouse where the last men he ever killed burned alive. _Nilfgaard_ men. He looked hastily around the room, his heart beginning to race though he didn’t know why. Everyone was still talking and laughing, Jaskier’s guitar was somewhere in the distance, waiters were still carrying their trays of canapés, but something…

Calanthe ground her teeth, “Make another sound, _boy_ , and I’ll have your guts sewn into pipes and sent to your father.”

“Father’s dead remember?” Cahir said casually, “ _I’m_ in charge now, and I think there should be a new order to this hierarchy, it needs a fresh start. Oh! _Ohh_!” Cahir suddenly laughed, a hearty laugh all to himself as the others stared at him like he’d lost his mind, “Oh you know what I’ve just thought is so funny? How at events like this you always check everyone who comes in here for weapons. Everyone…” his smile darkened delightfully, “except the _staff_.”

Before any of them realised what was happening, Cahir had raised his hand to his ear, pressing on a tiny hidden microphone embedded there.

“Do it.”

_Fire with fire…_

**_“Fuck!”_ **

As though the world had turned to slow motion Geralt suddenly grabbed Yennefer, looked out desperately fearfully to where Jaskier’s voice was, and then pulled her towards him and down, covering her with his own body as several explosions suddenly ripped through the entire hall. Fire raced over them all like a rushing tide, Geralt feeling the heat flash passed him like a boiling wind. The windows shattered, exploding outwards with mad flames. The chandeliers shook violently, before two of them fell onto screaming victims as they ran to cover. The chairs and tables nearest the bombs went flying out from the force of the explosions, impaling whoever was nearby.

The screams were deafening, and suddenly there was gun shots, and by the time Geralt looked up from where he was crouched over Yennefer he could see the staff, all of whom were Cahir’s men smuggled in, gunning down every single person they could see. He saw two waiters nearby handing out guns and huge knives that they’d been hiding on their person to Cahir and Renfri, who had taken shelter under a table knowing what was coming.

“Yen RUN!” Geralt shouted at her, as he leapt up and barrelled his entire body into them both, knocking Cahir to the ground.

But Renfri somehow managed to cling onto him, flipping them both over so she was straddling him on top, and Geralt clapped his hands together over the knife that had about to be plunged straight into his face. Renfri screamed at him, a true pure scream of fury, and Geralt used his hips and legs to knock her off him.

She screamed at him again, lunging at him, and Geralt saw one of the knives the waiters had on the floor so picked it up quickly, rolling away from her attack as she immediately tried to pounce on him again, stabbing the knife into the only part she could reach as he moved away, his thigh.

Geralt let out a loud howl of agony through clenched teeth, and Renfri immediately yanked the knife back out, blood splattering everywhere, and went to stab him again. Geralt turned where he lay and punched her hard on the jaw, but she was in such a rage it disorientated her only enough for Geralt to get out away from her, staggering upwards, holding his hand over the blood pouring from his thigh. She stood to face him, panting and holding the knife so hard her knuckles were white.

“You don’t even remember who I am do you?”

“I haven’t got time for this!” Geralt shouted at her, looking out to the mass of screaming, running people, of the flames licking higher and blocking exits, and seeing no sign of Jaskier, “Whatever I’ve done to you, I’m _sorry_!”

He then looked to where Yennefer had been. She wasn’t there, in fact there was no sign of her at all, but he looked just in time to see Cahir shoot Calanthe right through the head. They’d been fighting, Calanthe landing some very good hits, but she had no weapon, and Cahir had finally taken his shot. Her body fell like a lead weight, dead before she hit the ground, right on top of Mousesack who had been caught in an avalanche of rubble that fell from the crumbling ceiling, unable to protect her.

Adrenaline coursed through Geralt’s veins, fear and pain and anger running as one. Cahir didn’t even look to him, just ran in the opposite direction, presumably after where ever Yennefer had run, but first taking a shot at Eist who had run towards him with a cry of anguish. The bullet hit him in the shoulder, and then another one square in the chest. He was gone.

“Fuck!”

Yennefer, Jaskier, what the _fuck_ was he going to do?!

“LOOK AT ME!!”

Suddenly Renfri was attacking again, her knife swiping so close as Geralt just barely darted out of the way, his leg nearly giving out from under him in so much pain as he fought her while moving backwards, steel clashing as he blocked another attack with his own knife.

“Look at me and tell me you don’t remember! Look at me and tell me you’re not haunted by what you did to me!!”

She continued to attack, but all Geralt did was block, he wasn’t even trying to attack her. He just kept looking out to the flames where he’d last seen Jaskier, a gut-retching panic now joining that adrenaline. He felt sick, he had to get away from this woman! If Jaskier…if Jaskier was…

“ _ENOUGH_!” he screamed at her, but suddenly he tripped over a body behind him, the knife flying from his hand.

As he staggered backwards he ended up flat against the wall, and in that split dazed moment Renfri was on him, her knife at his throat. Geralt went very still.

“When I _hate_ someone,” Renfri panted, leaning up on her tip toes to barely get face to face, “for taking my whole life from me, I kill him. And I’ve wanted to kill you since I was twelve, since you _murdered my family_!!”

Even with a knife at his throat Geralt couldn’t help but constantly look over Renfri to the mass of screaming people in the distance, and the last place he’d seen Jaskier, “Twelve? What are you-“

He wasn’t interested, he didn’t care, all he could think about was the fact he _couldn’t see Jaskier_ and then…then… _twelve?_ Family?

But the only family he’d ever killed was…

Geralt looked at her. Really looked this time. The gentle wavy brown locks…flashes of the same locks on a pillow as a girl slept…the large eyes that somewhere deep inside them was an innocence locked away…there was homework unfinished…a cat on the bed…

His eyes went wide, terrified, as he stared at her, “…you can’t be…”

It was said in such a quiet whisper it barely left his lips. He stared at her, heart strangely slow as though beating through a murky dream. The sick feeling rose in his throat, bile being swallowed away before he threw it up.

“You’re the girl…the one……I spared-“

“ _Spared_?!” she spat at him before he’d barely finished, the knife pressing harder against his throat, “Spared from _what_? From a life of living hell? From being haunted by nightmares, by YOU, every single moment I’m asleep?! From dreaming of the day I _die_ , just so I can _stop hurting_?! _Why_?! Why did you leave me alive? Why didn’t you _kill_ me with the rest of them?” Her throat was constricting, tears threatening to fall through the anger, her eyes wide and shining, “What did you think would happen to a little girl who awoke to her family in pools of blood? What the _fuck_ did you think you were sparing me from you should have _killed_ me you MONSTER!"

It was just as Geralt felt the cut of the blade breach his throat that there was another explosion, one very close by, and it threw them both off their feet flying to the side. Geralt hit his head hard on the edge of a statue as he went down, sliding across the floor at the force of the blast. Flames were everywhere, but his eyes were rolling behind his eyelids, head swimming, all sounds now faint at the noise of the blast. It was like he was listening to the world while underwater, and he tried to open his eyes but the world spun before him. People were still running, still screaming, someone ran by on fire, another was crushed as another part of the ceiling collapsed. There was a terrible rumble all around them, the entire mansion was coming down. 

“Jaskier…” he croaked out desperately, his leg in agony, his head in agony, his mind in agony of the thought that Jaskier could be…

He tried to lean up on his elbows, to see where his attacker had gone. Renfri was a little further on to his left on her hands and knees, coughing through the smoke, both their knives long since disappeared in the mess. Cahir’s men were still gunning down anyone who moved, and through his blurred vision he saw what was supposed to be a chef, dead on the floor, the gun he’d smuggled in still in his hand. It looked like someone had bashed him over the head with something, if the blood pouring from the open wound on his skull was any indication. 

Geralt pulled himself forward over the floor, feeling his own warm blood trickling down over one eye where he’d smashed his head on that statue. He shakily grabbed the gun, and as he did a figure suddenly stood over him, their own gun in their hand pointing down to him. With all the effort he could muster Geralt reached out and shot the man through the ankle at point blank range. The entire ankle splintered into pieces, the man screaming in agony and falling backwards straight into a burning pile of rubble. His screams grew louder as he burnt alive.

Geralt began coughing now, the smoke thick and only getting thicker. He looked to Renfri, who was struggling to her feet. Their eyes met.

“Don’t…” Geralt coughed, for the rage in her eyes had not subsided, but she had no weapon.

And he did.

“Don’t…please…I don’t want to kill you…”

She screamed, racing towards him, hands out stretched in a murderous desperate rage that she would strangle him to death if she had to. Geralt lifted his gun, his vision still swimming, hand unsteady.

“RENFRI!” he cried out as one last attempt.

He pulled the trigger.

As he did there was another crash, and between them fell another part of the ceiling, along with the furniture from the room upstairs. He didn’t know if the bullet hit her or the falling ceiling did or what had happened, but Geralt curled himself into the smallest ball he could make as he was surrounded by heavy falling objects and flames. Uncoordinated or not he had to get out of here so _made_ himself move, _made_ himself crawl as fast he could through the devastation until he got to a break in the heat. 

Leaning on the wall he shakily stood up, and his leg may very well be on fire for the pain that was surging through his thigh. He opened his still double-vision eyes and saw that behind the burning objects from above stood Renfri, tears streaming down her face in pure rage at the sight of Geralt still alive. Geralt’s bullet had missed. But the space between them was now blocked, nothing but burning furniture with flames only getting higher. There was no way across to him now.

“I’m sorry.” Geralt said quietly, to her, to himself, to anyone that would listen.

For he was sorry, dear god he was. But how could he ever apologise for what he did? What could he possibly do to make up for turning that innocent girl into _this_?

Into _him_.

But as devastating as this situation was, and knowing who she was, she was _not_ his priority. He turned from her anguished screaming, and looked around himself, blinking rapidly in an attempt to get his vision back to normal.

“JASKIER?” he called out as loud as he could above the deafening crackling flames, kicking away burning items from the bodies beneath him, praying he didn’t see Jaskier underneath any of them. He could barely walk, but he was making himself do it, “JASKIER CAN YOU HEAR ME?”

Gun shots could be heard far away from the hall, they were gunning down every single person here, taking down the Cintra’s, the Venderberg’s, every single family. Cahir was destroying them all so he could control the criminal world himself. No rivals, no competition, he wanted it all. He wanted to be King.

Suddenly a blood splattered waiter came out of nowhere, and Geralt ducked the bullet that was shot at him, spinning around on the spot and grabbing the knife out of the mans other hand and then stabbing him in the side with it.

“JASKIER!” he called out again, as the man fell to the ground, “ _Fuck_! WHERE ARE YOU!? JASKIER!!”

He hurried over to where he’d last seen him, careful of the bodies littering the ground, and to his horror saw Pavetta and Duny…or at least, what was left of them. Pavetta’s beautiful wedding gown was still burning, her charred arm wrapped around her new husband where they lay motionless together on the ground.

Jaskier had been with them last.

“No, please…” his breathing was short and sharp, and terrified, “ _JASKIER_!!”

He couldn’t think, he couldn’t think about what would happen if he was dead, he wouldn’t let that thought enter his mind he wouldn’t he wouldn’t it could _fuck right off!!!_

“JASKIER!!.....please…fuck, JASKIER!!”

He turned around on the spot, and was suddenly forced to raise his arm to protect himself as the fire set off a gas canister being used to heat the hot plates on the buffet. The thing exploded, flying off right past Geralt’s head and smashing into another statue, a trail of flames in the air.

“Ohh you stay the _fuck_ away from me or I will bash your heads in with my guitar!!”

Geralt’s head shot to the side, and there ahead of him passed that now broken statue was Jaskier. He was standing with his back to a flaming table, his eyes darting behind him as his feet shuffled back barely an inch at a time away from the two men accosting him, trying not to get close enough to set himself on fire. He held his guitar like baseball bat, ready to use it as a weapon if they got any closer, and his eyes were fierce and feral.

The relief that flooded through Geralt at seeing him was far better than any orgasm that had ever existed, “Jaskier…” he whispered breathlessly.

“So, we get to kill Julian Pankratz.” He heard one of the men grin, Geralt watching as they both raised their guns, Jaskier’s aggressive eyes now widening in terror as he sucked in a gasp of air.

 _“Oh no you don’t.”_ Geralt growled dangerously, and with the excruciating pain in his leg not mattering in the slightest he let out a roar of anger, gun in hand as he stormed quickly towards them, arm reaching out and shooting the one on the left before the man had a chance to use that gun he held.

Geralt went to shoot the other, but nothing happened, out of bullets, so he let out another roar of frustration and threw the gun to one side. He ran up to the man, who had just looked down at his dead colleague and looked behind him to see who had shot him, turning just in time to see Geralt wrap his hands around his neck and twist.

With a resounding _crack_ the man fell to the floor, dead instantly.

Jaskier had jumped at the sound, now clutching his guitar to his chest like a protective shield. He stared at Geralt, eyes still wide in fear. Geralt just stood there over the two men he’d just killed right in front of him, panting in pain and adrenaline. 

Geralt knew what he’d done, and now he had to face it.

He slowly turned to look at Jaskier.

“I’m sorry you had to see that,” he said, voice so quiet, “but I will let no one hurt you.” He looked straight in those frightened blue eyes, “ _No one_.”

It felt like an age was passing as they stood there, staring at each other. There was no movement, just the heat and the screams and the death surrounding them, which strangely meant nothing leading up to a moment that may very well destroy them both. Geralt had just brutally murdered two people in front of the man he loved, the man who didn’t want him to kill, the man he’d promised to never kill again.

He could have just injured them.

He’d killed them.

At the silence between them Geralt was slowly resigning himself to the fact that one way or another he was about to lose him. He couldn’t blame him, he must have looked terrifying, taking lives without so much as a pause. Jaskier had just seen the Wolf, the Butcher, and the longer the silence went on the longer Geralt could feel that soul he’d been given so kindly begin to shrivel. He may have just saved his life, but Geralt was a monster, just like Renfri had said, and Jaskier had just seen his true self.

He closed his saddened golden eyes, breaking the hold between them, and looked away. If Jaskier left, if he was afraid of him, or angry…at least he was alive to be those things. That would have to be the only comfort Geralt could hold onto.

Slowly, Jaskier’s bottom lip began to tremble. In an instant he dropped his guitar to the side, flames catching it as it landed, and then ran.

Right into Geralt’s arms.

He engulfed him in the biggest hug, pressing his face into his neck and squeezing him so closely. It took Geralt a little longer to realise what was happening, that Jaskier was hugging him and not running away, and in a daze that felt unreal he wrapped his arms so tightly around him, like this was a dream that would fade into nothing if he didn’t hold on tight.

“I’m sorry!” Jaskier cried out into his neck, “I’m sorry I should have listened to you I should have left my love I’m sorry!”

“Jaskier…” Geralt said his name like it was a precious jewel, one that was more loved and protected above all others, “you’re not…”

_Running, leaving, screaming._

But before Geralt could truly get his head around what had just happened, what this meant, the hug ended as quickly as it began. Jaskier had pulled back to look around them, to look up at Geralt, to look everywhere as the tears in his eyes finally fell, “Okay I’m gonna admit I’m terrified beyond all belief what the hell is going on here these people they’re all…they’re dead they’re…bombs…what- _what happened to your leg?!_ And your head Geralt you’re bleeding!!“

“I’m fine.”

“Fuck you’re not fine have you been _stabbed_?! We-w-w we’ve got to get you…h-hospital or, no n-no you don’t like those we…we…”

“Jaskier, look at me.” Jaskier appeared to be having a mild panic attack, panting unevenly and eyes darting all around them, so Geralt clutched his face between his hands, forcing him to look at him, “You need to calm down, we need to get out of here so I need you to concentrate and do exactly what I say, okay?”

Jaskier took in a couple of deep, shaky breaths, composed himself, sniffed, and nodded determinedly, “Yeah, okay, I’m good, I’m just…oh Geralt I’m so glad you got to those men I would have bashed their brains in before they shot me I mean it.”

“I believe it.”

He may be fearful now, but Jaskier had stood his ground between flames and two armed men with nothing but a guitar and a hard fire in his own eyes. The adrenaline had gone for Jaskier now and the fear was setting in, but it was still running high for Geralt.

Geralt bent down and picked up the two guns from the dead men, “Where did that child go, Ciri?”

“I don’t know,” Jaskier panted, “She ran as soon as it all started, I think she got out the door before they started shooting…oh _fuck_ I hope she’s okay.”

Geralt checked the guns, then held them one in each hand, ready.

“Jaskier, hold my waist, stand behind me and do _not_ let go.”

Jaskier nodded again, taking a mournful look at his burning guitar as he did. Suddenly another explosion was heard above them, the ceiling cracking. Geralt took one look at that and then the fire that was partially blocking their only way out.

“Hold on to me, now _run_!”

They ran, right through the tiny gap between the fire, Geralt blocking as much as he could for Jaskier behind him. They ran and ran and ran, the pain in Geralt’s leg telling him he should be passing out right about now, but he ignored it entirely. More men came out of nowhere, and Jaskier let out a shriek and ducked where he held onto Geralt as a bullet went flying past his ear, but the next time he looked the man was dead, Geralt having shot him right in the chest. As they dodged the flames and rubble and more of Cahir’s men, Geralt being forced to shoot six more of them dead, they made it through a gap in a collapsed wall and ran out into the grounds and the fresh air.

Behind them the entire mansion was aflame, and those that were escaping out the front doors were being gunned down, screams rising as high as the flames in the early evening air. They ran until they got to the surrounding woods, where they continued to run, not looking back. Geralt didn’t know where Yennefer was, but he prayed she was okay, prayed she wasn’t one of the screams echoing behind them.

He prayed for her forgiveness too, because contract or no contract, Jaskier was the only person in this world he wanted to guard.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This was an INCREDIBLY DIFFICULT CHAPTER TO WRITE! So PLEASE leave me love!! <3<3 I spent three entire days on one paragraph alone! T_T


	13. “Will I see you again?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've never had so many comments on one chapter as I did for the previous one XD I've left you all in shock!

Geralt opened his eyes very, very slowly. His eyelids felt like lead weights, and his equally slow blinking was very uncoordinated as he tried to focus. He felt utterly exhausted, but how could that be if he was just waking up? As he became more aware of his surroundings he found his entire body was soaked in sweat, and everything ached horribly. His head and thigh especially. He was in his own bed, but there was a stale smell of blood and vomit in the air, and the curtains were drawn despite the bright sunlight that crept in around the edges.

“Geralt!!” came a sudden optimistic voice, “Easy there, hey, can you hear me?”

He scrunched his eyes up tight for a moment as the bedside light was suddenly switched on, before he felt a hand on his cheek. He carefully moved his head where it rested on the pillow, just a little bit, just enough to look to Jaskier who was sitting in a chair beside him and facing him. He was holding his hand where his arm lay above the covers, the other cupping his cheek lightly. Geralt blinked again to try and get him in focus, and as that sweet face came into view he realised Jaskier looked…looked…

“You look like shit Jaskier.”

Geralt grimaced at his own voice, never had it sounded so coarse, like he was trying to talk past a throatful of razor blades. Jaskier let out a small laugh, and suddenly Geralt found himself engulfed in a _careful_ hug.

“I’m so glad you’re awake, and actually with it for once. I’ve been so worried Geralt this fever had really taken you badly.”

Jaskier’s voice didn’t sound normal either. It was still bright as always but there was a certain joy missing, and there was a relief in his voice that sounded like he’d needed it to come for a long time. Geralt looked at him properly as he pulled back. He did look very tired, black bags hung under his eyes, his hair was limp and his clothes were creased.

“Jaskier…what…” Geralt groaned in pain as he tried to move, trying to rest his shoulders up against the pillow so he could see better.

Jaskier reached out, gently helping him haul himself up the bed a little. He placed a kiss to Geralt’s forehead when they’d finished, pulling the chair up even closer and holding his hand again. Geralt blinked around the room when he was comfortable.

“When did we……I don’t remember getting home. What happened?”

Jaskier gave him a joyless smile, “Well, when we got far enough away from the fire your body just kind of…gave up. I guess you really were just running on adrenaline. We reached a main road and you just collapsed, I couldn’t get you to stand at all and you were losing so much blood…” he trailed off quietly, looking down to their enclosed hands, “I wrapped my shirt around your leg as tight as I could and managed to hail down a taxi. Told them you were drunk, had tripped. By the time we got home you were delirious. I kept trying to say we should take you to hospital but you kept saying no, over and over again, it was about the only thing you could say.”

He remembered hauling Geralt through the door, Geralt barely able to keep his own head up let alone walk, those golden eyes rolling behind fluttering eyelids. Jaskier was so scared for him, but all he’d mumble was no whenever Jaskier said he needed to go to hospital, and even close to passing out Geralt was far stronger than him, Jaskier wasn’t going to be able to force him to do anything.

“I mean I know why you didn’t want go but... you were really bad.” Jaskier continued, still quiet, “Then to top it all off you broke out in a fever. I think your leg got infected, I found some antibiotics in that med kit of yours, they were out of date but…there was nothing else. That was three days ago.”

“Three _days_?!” Geralt exclaimed, trying to sit up, but a pain shot through his thigh like he’d been stabbed all over again, and he was already giving up and resting back against the pillow before Jaskier had even put his hand on his chest to stop him.

“You’ve been in an out of consciousness since. Your fever finally broke last night so the worst should be over with. I don’t think I’ve slept at all,” Jaskier gave a dry, cheerless chuckle, “I was…really worried, at times. Your leg was really messed up. I disinfected it best I could and stitched it up but it’s not very good stitches. It wasn’t a clean entry wound like that bullet, your skin was…ripped…” he pursed his lips together, pulling a slightly disgusted face, “…I might have…thrown up…”

Geralt let out a sigh of pure sympathy, looking at him with such sorrow and adoration all at the same time. He squeezed Jaskier’s hand, “I’m sorry you had to go through all that alone,” he said, barely above a whisper, “but thank you. It’s…nice, to be looked after.” He admitted, and that got a small, genuine smile from his little lark. He then thought for a moment, “If it’s been three days, has Yen…” he trailed off, and then Jaskier looked at him sadly.

“You’ve had no phone calls.” Jaskier said quietly, understanding what that probably meant “I’m sorry.”

They sat in silence for a moment, Geralt running though his foggy head what had happened. If Yennefer hadn’t phoned him, that meant one of two things. Either she was dead, or she had survived but had now lost her trust in the one man she had ever trusted. He’d told her to run, but then Renfri had happened, and then Jaskier…he didn’t regret who he chose to go after.

There was a third option, but it was the least likely. That she had survived, and that Cahir had captured her and kept her hostage. It was unlikely purely because that man had a mission of killing everyone, _especially_ the heads of the families. He wouldn’t want Yennefer alive, so she was either dead, or Geralt would face her wrath sooner or later. He wouldn’t phone her to check either. If she wanted to contact him she would have done so, he wasn’t going to speed up whatever she may have planned if she blamed Geralt for leaving her, and if she was dead, well…Geralt wasn’t quite ready to have an empty dial tone answering. He’d have to wait to see if anything changed.

“Have we been safe?” Geralt asked, “Has anyone tried to get in?”

Jaskier blinked at him, “I don’t think so. Why would anyone try to get in?” he then paused, “…what _did_ happen at that wedding? Who set off those bombs? What…who were those people _shooting_ everyone?” His voice was slightly higher than normal, a definite thrill of panic that had probably been reined in while he cared for all Geralt’s injuries and illness.

Geralt let out a worrisome sigh. Jaskier knew he never told him anything about his job for deniability purposes, but…well, there was no denying he was involved this time. So he told him. Told him who set off those bombs. He told him about Cahir, that he was trying to take down every crime family at once so every criminal transaction had to run through him. He told him that he’d told Yennefer to run but then got caught by Renfri, the girl that changed his life all those years ago by deciding not to kill her, and who seemed to have been hunting him all these years. He told him it was Cahir’s men, disguised as the staff, that had been killing everyone.

It was a slaughter, all because one man decided he didn’t want to work with others. Admittedly everyone there was a criminal and everyone probably deserved it but…Geralt realised he was mimicking his own words that he’d used to try and dissuade his own guilt at all the people he’d murdered throughout his life. It didn’t feel like an excuse anymore. He just felt…sad. All those people were dead. Hundreds. Entire families wiped out. It was awful.

No one deserved to go out like that.

Jaskier was very quiet as he listened, “They kept that part out of the news.” Geralt tilted his head, “Giant mansion on fire, a little difficult to escape the press. They just said it was a horrible unfortunate accident, but I guess that was just a cover up. Surely the police would have found evidence of bombs and…and… bodies with…bullets…” He couldn’t finish the sentence as the image of the fire and screams came back to him.

Geralt could practically see the images flashing across Jaskier’s eyes, and a horrible wave of guilt washed over him. He clasped his hand so tightly, “I’m so sorry Jaskier. You got caught up in my world and that should never have happened. You didn’t deserve to see all that, to nearly be a casualty of it.”

Jaskier was the last person on this planet Geralt wanted in danger, the last person he wanted to give nightmares to. Perhaps that’s why Jaskier hadn’t slept, not just because he was worried for Geralt while he fought off the fever, but perhaps his dreams wouldn’t leave him alone when he tried. The thought of Jaskier, his playful, cheeky Jaskier being plagued by nightmares made him feel sick.

“You have nothing to apologise for, you saved my life, multiple times. If anything I…I think I need to apologise to you.” Jaskier said, squeezing that hand back. Geralt raised a questioning eyebrow, and Jaskier continued. “When you told me what your job was, the things you did, the people you’d killed…I don’t think I took it seriously. I mean I did, but…I don’t think I realised exactly how much danger it meant you were in. What it all meant to be part of organised crime. What happened at that mansion, I’ve had three days to think about everything while I’ve been taking care of you and…and I can’t do this Geralt.”

Jaskier lowered his head, and that sick feeling returned to Geralt with abundance. He had to swallow away the bile that rose in his throat. Jaskier looked so serious, and Geralt could feel his heart drop as though thrown through a trap door at those words.

“I can’t keep watching you get hurt.” Jaskier continued, “I don’t want to wait around every time you get called out wondering if you’re going to come back. I love you,” he looked to Geralt’s worried eyes, Jaskier’s looking so sincere, “I love you so much I feel like I want to wrap you up in cotton wool and protect you from all the people that force you to have this life.” He let out a tiny grin, knowing that was such a stupid image, “So can’t we just…I dunno, run away together? To the coast somewhere or…if Yennefer is…I mean there’s no need to stay here right? Can’t we just go? Somewhere else, somewhere safe? Being in real danger isn’t as fun as playing it.”

He gave him a wry smile, but all Geralt could think about was how his heart was now soaring that Jaskier hadn’t said he was leaving him, just that he was…well, scared. And rightfully so. He hadn’t even said he was scared for his own life either, just for Geralt’s. Jaskier nearly got shot, and possibly burned alive, and all he wanted to do is protect Geralt.

Sometimes the size of Jaskier’s heart astonished him.

The old Geralt would have argued that he doesn’t deserve that dedication, that warmth and care, and that Jaskier would now especially be far better off leaving him. The future was uncertain, what Cahir would do next, if Yennefer was alive, and Jaskier would definitely be a target now. But the new Geralt, the new one thought that maybe, just _maybe_ he was worth being loved if that love came from Jaskier. Maybe that old self-loathing was slowly being drowned by Jaskier’s love. Maybe he knew there wasn’t even any point in bringing up the suggestion that Jaskier leave him for his own safety, for Jaskier would roll his eyes and just say _for fucks sakes Geralt don’t even start with that again._

He adored him, there was no getting away from it, and knowing how strong Jaskier was being in the face of such unknown danger just made him love him even more. He was not a wilting flower, he wasn’t running away. In his eyes Geralt was worth the danger, he just wanted them to be together, just a pure and innocent want.

Still, Geralt wasn’t going to let himself get too carried away with those romantic thoughts just yet, so closed his eyes for a moment, trying not to get lost in Jaskier’s love, “I don’t know, I need to think.” He took in a few deep breaths, face betraying a moment of pain, before opening them again.

Jaskier was watching him with such hope in his eyes.

“Running away isn’t going to solve anything.” Geralt finally said, and Jaskier pouted, “There’s a lot more going on here. Cahir wanted to kill everyone there, and if Renfri managed to get out I don’t think she’s going to give up on killing me.”

“Then…!” Jaskier suddenly blurted, but then stopped, biting his lips and looking sheepish, “…I don’t like what I was about to suggest.”

Geralt blinked, and then gave him a small, knowing smile, “If you were going to say I should kill them first…”

Jaskier nodded, very slowly and very guiltily. Geralt smiled, rather amused. Hopefully it was just because he’d been in this life so long, but the suggestion of murder from someone he loved because someone else was trying to kill him first actually warmed his heart.

“Well…I’m not doing anything with this leg.” He sighed, “I suggest we stay here for now, let me heal, and then figure out later what to do. If no one’s come here then that suggests Yennefer was very good at keeping my location a secret, and I’d…taken care, of anyone following me home in the past, so Cahir shouldn’t know where I am.”

Jaskier nodded again, “It’s nice to see you putting your health first for a change.” He smiled warmly, “Okay, we’ll lay low. How’s your head feeling?”

Geralt had forgotten about his head, it was probably why his eyesight was still a little fuzzy. He reached out to touch the side of his head where it had smashed against the statue. There was a sizeable bump under the bandage that he just realised was wrapped around his head like a headband. He winced as he touched it.

“It didn’t need stitches,” Jaskier clarified, “but there’s gonna be a lump there for a while I think.”

“I feel disgusting.” Geralt mumbled, his grey shirt sticking to his chest from his fevered sweats.

“You look disgusting.” Jaskier stated with a grin, “And so do I. We _both_ need a shower but before that I am getting us something to eat. Neither of us have eaten in days and I don’t know about you but now I can stop worrying about you my appetite has suddenly returned with a vengeance and I am quelling that first no matter how much we stink.”

“Hmm, yeah I could do with food.” Geralt murmured with a smile, watching a much happier Jaskier bound off out the bedroom door.

* * *

Geralt pointed out some crutches he kept in storage, this was after all not the first time he’d been injured in the leg, so Jaskier had retrieved them and helped Geralt up to the bathroom. Only after making him eat their first food in days of course, which was now being comfortably digested and instantly making him feel better. Jaskier had said he’d tried to get him to eat some food before on the occasions he’d been vaguely awake from his fever, just simple healthy chicken soup, but Geralt had thrown it back up every time. Between that and the sweating and the blood there had been enough disgusting bodily fluids oozing out to make a horror film effects department go out of business.

Geralt caught his reflection in the bathroom mirror as he hobbled past and fucking hell Jaskier was right, he looked far worse. His hair was loose and lanky and sticking to his face, his eyes were practically sinking into their sockets and horribly bloodshot, and his skin was so pale and damp he looked one night away from turning into some sort of zombie. He’d put his body through a lot in the past, but this was probably the worst, but this certainly proved Jaskier’s feelings for him if nothing else. He’d seen him look literally disgusting in every possible way and all he’d done is stay by his side for three days caring for him. It made Geralt feel like something was squirming happily in his chest.

His aching head made him feel even more unsteady than he already was on the crutches, but Jaskier helped him every step of the way, sitting him down on chair he’d put in the large shower. The slightest bit of pressure on his foot sent such huge pain through his thigh that he knew it’d be a while before he could walk on it. It had been a deep stab wound. He tried to not let any pain show, but Jaskier was already raising an eyebrow at him and placing his hands on his hips like he was a teacher about to scold a small child.

“Geralt, if you’re trying to be that big strong ‘I don’t feel pain’ man again you can forget it. You’re allowed to be in pain you know it’s not going to make me think any less of you.”

Geralt stilled for a moment, debating, before relenting and gritting his teeth, letting out breathy moan of pain and taking in a few shaky lungful’s of air, “I don’t suppose…there’s any more painkillers… left from last time is there?” he panted.

He felt pathetically weak for asking, but Jaskier positively beamed at him, “Yes, there is, and thank you for not making me force them down your throat, you impossible man.”

How different Geralt was being from that last time. Being shot had left him irritable and snapping at Jaskier, refusing to take anything to help with the pain other than the vodka he’d been downing. Now, he sat quietly, letting Jaskier take care of him, swallowing the pills he was handed with no complaining. He was allowing himself to be vulnerable in front of Jaskier, and Jaskier didn’t miss it. He noticed every single different thing Geralt did during their growing relationship, every sweet little gesture he would never have made before, every little smile that grew wider and lasted longer every day, letting Jaskier take him during sex of course, and every moment of proof that told Jaskier he was a big part of Geralt’s life now. Geralt was allowing Jaskier to influence him in all the good ways, letting him become the man he was always supposed to be. One that had never been abandoned, one that had grown up with love and support and friends…well, perhaps friends were still a way off.

Jaskier giggled to himself.

“What’s so funny?” Geralt asked, as Jaskier stood behind him directing the shower head over Geralt’s body avoiding his thigh.

“Nothing,” he kissed the top of Geralt’s now clean, wet head, having also been careful around his head wound, “just thinking about how much I love you.”

Geralt turned his head to the side as if to look at him, then reached out with his right hand to his left shoulder, placing it on top of Jaskier’s hand that happened to be holding him there while he showered him.

“I love you too Jaskier…very much.” He then curled his fingers around Jaskier’s palm and placed a kiss on the back of his hand, before closing his eyes and nuzzling his cheek against it like some overgrown cat.

His voice was still rough, and although he still felt uncomfortably exposed when he said those words it was lessening each and every time. Especially this time. The words were said openly and honestly, with no trace of awkwardness. There was only the mildest of embarrassed fluttering’s in his chest, being far surpassed by the feeling that it was the right thing to say, that it was right to acknowledge it, that being in love, madly, _ridiculously_ in love, was a wonderful and comfortable thing. A special thing.

Jaskier taught him that.

If Jaskier wanted to wrap him in cotton wool, then Geralt wanted to whisk him away to the stars. Jaskier had said once he wanted to travel the world, well they’d travel the galaxy together, anything to keep Jaskier smiling and those songs keep on coming, songs about comets driving destiny and the ethereal wisps of far off nebulas writing poetry in the sky. They’d be safe up there, nothing but the silence of space being filled by Jaskier’s beautiful voice. Silence and his noisy angel all in one, that sounded like perfection to Geralt.

Once again, the old Geralt would have scrunched up his nose and berated himself for thinking such utter sappy nonsense. The new one just smiled serenely, and smiled even more when he felt Jaskier drape his arms around his neck from behind, giving him the sloppiest most comforting kiss on his cheek

“My big softie.” He nuzzled Geralt’s cheek like Geralt had nuzzled his hand, and Geralt let out a huff of an amused smile.

Heh, softie.

He supposed he was.

* * *

That night, with them both clean and fed and feeling much more human again, they found they were holding each other a lot tighter than normal under the bed covers, and it was obvious why. Jaskier was lying beside him, his leg thrown over Geralt’s good leg making sure not to touch the other thigh. He was hugging Geralt’s chest tightly, his face snuggling against his neck, and Geralt’s arms were thrown around him so securely. They were holding each other so closely because Geralt just couldn’t get the thought out of his mind that had things turned out differently, this right now would not be happening, and he figured Jaskier was thinking the same.

After Jaskier had changed the quite gross bedsheets they had snuggled down here quite a few hours ago, and had done nothing but talk. They needed to talk about what happened, or at least Jaskier had needed to. Although Jaskier had already had three days to try and deal with what he’d witnessed at that wedding, he had been alone, worrying about Geralt and not actually knowing what had happened. All he knew was that he’d seen a heck of a lot of people get killed for an unknown reason, he’d nearly been killed for an unknown reason, and then they’d both been shot at repeatedly as they escaped and Geralt protected him. Add Geralt losing blood and feverish and, as Jaskier had admitted, he’d been worrying he may lose him too.

Geralt had felt so bad for leaving him in that state, so guilty. He knew it was hardly his own fault, but still, he wished he’d managed to hold onto his sanity, to not let the significant blood loss and excruciating agony get to him, but he guessed even he had reached his limit. Although what had happened that night was significantly more dangerous than most of the jobs he’d been on, Geralt was at least used to such violence and death, but Jaskier…Geralt was glad he was talking about it, because it would help keep any nightmares away. Jaskier was only a normal man, he needed to process what he’d witnessed and talking was the first step.

Thankfully Jaskier was very good at talking.

Afterwards, and although there were still some unanswered questions and still the threat of Cahir to contend with, Jaskier had been a lot more like his normal, smiley self. Geralt thought that perhaps he himself should have talked more for his own wellbeing too, for it was only just hitting him for the first time now at how close he’d come to actually losing Jaskier.

His mind played back the scene, Jaskier being approached by the two men with guns, trapped between them and flames, and although he didn’t doubt for a second that Jaskier would have used his guitar as a weapon if needed, it wouldn’t have stopped two bullets fired so closely. If Geralt had been just a few seconds slower in finding him, he would have found his dead body on the ground instead. His mind cruelly allowed him to imagine what that would have been like, to have looked around just in time to hear two gun shots, and then seeing Jaskier’s body slump to the floor, or falling into the flames behind him being engulfed in death.

Geralt visibly shuddered, and Jaskier moved a little beside him, “You okay?” came his sleepy voice.

They were both exhausted, Geralt’s body still weak from the fever and Jaskier weak from worry.

“Jaskier,” Geralt paused, but the sentence had already begun, that awful image still playing behind his eyes, “I told myself I wasn’t going to ask you this, but…I think I need to.”

Jaskier’s head moved back a little so he could look up at him, “What is it?”

Geralt bit the inside of his lip, “If I asked you…to leave…to leave _me_ , because you’ve seen first-hand now how dangerous a life with me is going to be……would you?”

He asked it almost tentatively, and Jaskier didn’t say anything for a moment, in fact his expression barely changed at all, “When you imagined asking me this, did you imagine my response as well?” he eventually asked.

Geralt nodded, “You’d swear at me and tell me not to start that nonsense again.”

“Hm,” Jaskier hummed, snuggling back into his arms in a way that was going to end that conversation, “you should listen to yourself more often.”

Geralt had hoped that hearing Jaskier confirm that he wouldn’t leave would make him happy, but it didn’t, it made him feel panicked.

“Jaskier, if I lost you…it would be the end of me.”

Jaskier opened his eyes slowly, his heart suddenly racing at such a sincere statement, and he leant back again resting his head against Geralt’s bicep. He looked across at him, “Geralt.” He said wistfully.

Forget saying I love you, _this_ was the most vulnerable Geralt felt. The thought had been curled up as a nagging feeling, slowly rising and getting closer to being vocalised. He remembered what his life was like before Jaskier, before this ball of love bounced its way in not taking no for an answer, and he didn’t like that old life anymore. He’d been in such a dark place his whole life, lonely and quiet, but not a good quiet, filled with endless pointless days and lying in bed starring at the blackness that surrounded him, wondering if this was going to be what his life would be like every day until the day he died. Until the day he was murdered, for he’d already accepted that was bound to be the way he was going to go, it was only a matter of time. Back then death meant nothing to him, he felt nothing towards it, but now he had something to live for. To love for.

He didn’t want that life back. He didn’t want to die. He didn’t want this ball to stop bouncing. If he lost Jaskier he’d lose everything he had gained, not just the love, but the companionship, the bright light that shone in the dark that made him feel that just maybe life was worth living. Jaskier very nearly gave him back his innocence that he had always craved, from the moment he’d seen the small Renfri, tucked up in her bed, her own innocence telling him to stop, to restart, to try again. Even that he’d managed to ruin, everything he touched he destroyed. Except Jaskier. Jaskier mended him, healed him, taught him to love, not destroy.

Geralt didn’t want his life without Jaskier anymore, for one without him would not be a life worth having. He’d crawled into his heart and given him his soul, and the thought of losing him, of being murdered all because of Geralt, like what had so nearly happened at the wedding…it made him bare his fangs, his hackles rise, his claws expose, and a vicious deadly growl rumble deeply from within.

The White Wolf had only one mission in life now, to protect Jaskier above all else.

“If anything ever happens to you,” Geralt continued quietly, laying his soul bare, “if anyone ever tries to hurt you again…” he looked to Jaskier’s blue eyes, ensuring he was watching him as he said these words, “there is nothing that’ll stop me from tearing the limbs off the people that do. Maybe that scares you I don’t know, but I mean it.”

There was a small pause, before the covers shifted as Jaskier leant up on his elbow to lean over him, face to face. His eyes traced all over that tired but unwavering face, those golden eyes filled with determination and honesty. And love. So much love that Jaskier could barely comprehend the change in them from when they first met. Picking up this sad, pretty beefcake in a pub in Pride week, who’d of thought only two months later they’d have gone through so much together… _felt_ so much together.

Jaskier had always been a player, he loved everyone he couldn’t help it, but Geralt…no one made his heart flutter like Geralt, even when threatening to take down people just to protect him. His kink for danger…no, his _love_ of being _protected_ , there was no one else that gave him that stronger feeling than Geralt.

“I’ve already seen you act on that.” Jaskier reminded him softly, remembering only a moments fear as Geralt killed the two men threatening his life, for the rest was filled with relief and _love,_ so much love Jaskier had cried.

Geralt had thought it was all fear at the time, of the situation, of _him_ , but it wasn’t, it was overwhelming love. Jaskier had told him that earlier when they’d talked, and the equal relief and love on Geralt’s face that he hadn’t been scared of him nearly made Jaskier cry again. His pretty puppy always thought the worst of everything, he was always so used to being scared of.

That was going to have to change.

“It doesn’t scare me,” Jaskier continued, “ _you_ don’t scare me, though I believe it best I start sending out little prayers to anyone who so much as _thinks_ of standing in between us.”

“They’re gonna need them.” Geralt said with a small smirk.

 _Now_ he felt happy.

Jaskier grinned at him, and leant down to give him a sweet, slow kiss. Nothing hot, nothing heavy, there was no energy from either of them for sex regardless of Geralt’s leg, but it was still perfect. Every kiss from Jaskier was perfect. Geralt wouldn’t let anything happen to him, he would be his own personal bodyguard for life if it came to it. He cradled the back of Jaskier’s head as they kissed, keeping him close, keeping them kissing, and Jaskier was suddenly giggling into the kiss.

“Never thought I’d say this but _enough_! We need sleep, desperately, especially you you’re still not well remember.”

“ ‘m fine.”

“You know I think that’s going to be the title of your biography one day. Geralt Rivia, _I’m Fine,_ in brackets _Except I’m Not.”_

“But you’re here,” Geralt said in earnest, pushing aside Jaskier’s fringe with his fingers, relishing the softness, “that means I am fine.”

Jaskier blinked at him in silence, again, and again, and Geralt felt an amused, loving smile tug at his lips as he watched Jaskier’s face get redder and redder.

“G-go to sleep!” Jaskier tried to demand sternly, the blush ruining the affect, before burying his head back under Geralt’s chin again where he couldn’t look at him, “and if you’re going to say things like that do it when it you’re not stabbed or shot or any number of ways you get yourself injured because it makes me want to jump you and I can’t.”

Jaskier could feel the rumble of Geralt’s wonderful chuckle through his chest. These were exactly the little moments that brought light into Geralt’s darkness, exactly the reason he wanted to protect Jaskier, to keep him, to hold him, to never let that shine dim. He gave out these little moments of joy that had Geralt smiling and chucking and laughing more times in these past two months than he ever had. He wouldn’t let that go for anything.

“Geralt?”

“Thought we were supposed to be sleeping?” Geralt murmured, eyes now heavily closed, his painkillers making him sated and sleepy and Jaskier’s warmth and acceptance making him even more so.

“Just want to fore-warn you,” there was a long pause, “I’m…I’m going to ask you a question one day.”

It was said in such a small voice, barely above a whisper, and it came with a little squeeze of a closer hug. It was not elaborated on either, just left there. An open statement. A question to be asked. One day.

Just one little question.

Geralt was sure Jaskier would be able to feel his heart thumping wildly against his chest.

“Yes.” He whispered back with barely a thought needed, though whether it was a yes in acknowledgement, or a reply to the un-spoken question, even Geralt wasn’t sure.

Whatever Jaskier took it as, it made his little lark hum delightfully, cuddling him closer, whispering _I love you_ into the night time air.

* * *

Two days later and the only phone calls that had rung out into the penthouse were from Jaskier’s agent, screaming at him once again that he needs to stop cancelling things, he has responsibilities and whatever is going on in his personal life this has to stop it keeps happening too many times! He’s just released an album he’s in demand he has to get to work!

Jaskier had indeed been cancelling everything while he looked after Geralt, that and Geralt wasn’t happy with Jaskier leaving. With no word from Yennefer and no way for Geralt to move and go out to locate some of his contacts to see if they knew anything, they were literally stuck here. He’d tried phoning some of them, not one answered, it was like the entire criminal underworld had disappeared. He didn’t know what was going on outside, and he wasn’t happy about Jaskier being alone out there where Geralt couldn’t protect him.

Still, the need for food was getting in demand, and they needed new bandages for Geralt’s leg.

“Look how about I go at lunch? It’s a Saturday, shoppers will be everywhere it’ll be crowded.”

“Mmm.”

Geralt did not like this, and mentally he kept swearing at his thigh to fucking heal quicker! Yes it was a horrible stab wound and he’d lost a lot of blood, again, and the fever had put his body to the very limit of what it could bare but still, _fuck!_ All he wanted to do was walk with Jaskier and he couldn’t.

Geralt sighed, “Fine. But you phone me every ten minutes.”

“Every _ten minutes_?!” Jaskier laughed, but Geralt was not laughing back and just glared at him, so Jaskier stopped, “Okay,” he said more seriously, “every ten minutes. While I’m out I better go into my studio and-“

Suddenly the intercom to the front door rang.

They looked to each other, and Geralt’s eyes narrowed. He never ever had visitors, and Jaskier seemed to have thought the same thing for suddenly Geralt was placing his fingers over his lips to indicate to stay quiet. With the crutches Geralt rose from the sofa they’d been sitting on, Jaskier starting to get up to help but Geralt shook his head.

“Stay here, stay down.”

He carefully hobbled over to the draw where he kept his gun, leaving one of the crutches on the side so he had a free hand to use. He wasn’t ready to do that and it put pressure on his thigh but he grit his teeth and waded through the pain. Jaskier stayed kneeling on the sofa looking over the back of it towards Geralt and the door.

Geralt pressed the switch on the intercom.

“Hello?”

“Geralt, it’s me, I need to talk to you.”

Jaskier’s eyes went wide, “Is that Yennefer?! She’s alive!”

Geralt quickly shushed him with his finger again. Jaskier thought Geralt would be pleased, but his expression hadn’t changed at all.

“Yen, why didn’t you phone me?”

“Geralt I’ll answer that but you have to let me in first. I need to see you.”

Geralt hummed deeply under his breath, obviously suspicious, but then reluctantly pressed the button to let her in.

“What’s going on?” Jaskier asked, but Geralt just lowered his hand out towards him, and Jaskier ducked down behind the sofa, just the top of his head poking up so he could see.

Geralt opened his front door wide and stood behind the door frame, gun in hand, and with a full view of the lift doors opposite. The lift was whirring in motion as Yennefer came up. Jaskier didn’t know what was going on but the tension was insurmountable and he barely even breathed as he watched and waited.

When the lift door pinged open, there was no one there.

No wait, there was.

“Geralt! You alone?”

Yennefer was hiding to the side of the open doors, just like Geralt was doing.

“Jaskier’s here.”

Somehow there was a warning in his voice. Jaskier’s here, meaning if this is anything other than what it should be, I will not hold back. There was another pause, before slowly Yennefer emerged, her own gun in her hand but lowered, non-threatening. Peering around the corner and seeing it was only her Geralt visibly relaxed, and he lowered his gun and hobbled out into view.

“Had to make sure it was only you.” He said, waving his gun a little.

“Same,” she replied, placing her gun back in a holster on her belt, “with what’s happening out there I have had to be so careful. Glad to see you’re alive, though I bet you’re hating that.” She gestured towards his leg.

“Likewise,” he hobbled to one side so she could come in, “and yes I am.”

He was surprised how relieved he was that she was alive actually. Theirs would always be a strange relationship, but he was pleased nonetheless. As Yennefer stepped inside she noticed Jaskier, still half hiding behind the sofa at the other end of the open planned room. He didn’t know if it was safe to come out with her around or not, so decided to continue to do what Geralt had told him and stay low. And eavesdrop.

Yennefer ignored him and turned back to Geralt, “Yeah, thanks to you, and no, thank you I’m not staying long.” She declined his head nod towards that sofa, preferring to stay by the open door, “Sorry I haven’t phoned you either, with what’s happened I wasn’t sure if they could trace any calls.”

“What has happened? I haven’t heard anything.”

Yennefer let out a big sigh. Up close now he could see she looked rather ragged, her clothes just plain jeans and a jacket, not like her style at all, and her hair tied back in a plain ponytail. There was no makeup either, and that was unheard of.

“It wasn’t just the Cintra’s.” she said, “Cahir had spent all his time infiltrating every single family, including mine. While we were at the wedding, our homes have been destroyed, anyone left behind has been killed as well.”

Geralt stared at her in shock, “ _Fuck_.”

“I’ve lost everything Geralt, everything.” Her voice was dull and dead, no confidence, it was all gone, “I’ve been in hiding since, along with the Cintra kid. We ran into each other as we tried to escape. She’s a good girl, we’ve met before so she knew my face. She wants to stay with me so…I guess I have a kid now after all. Not exactly the way I pictured getting one, but perhaps its destiny.”

Jaskier would be relieved to hear Ciri was safe, but, “Are you sure it’s wise to keep her with you?”

“She’s not an idiot.” Yennefer snapped at him, “She knew what her family was even if she still had her innocence. She’s got nowhere else to go anyway, Cahir has done an _excellent_ job in murdering hundreds of people.” She said bitterly, “And the ironic thing is I can’t go to the police. Right now, all we have is each other. I want to look after her Geralt, I _will_ look after her.”

“Alright,” Geralt said quietly, “and Yen…I’m so sorry.”

What else could he say? The underworld was being destroyed and rebuilt in the name of mass-murdering maniac, played so well, making people think he was useless and pathetic and not worth taking over his fathers name when he’d been planning this all along. Geralt was genuinely so worried about what was going to happen, to all of them here.

“Look I can’t stay long,” Yennefer continued, “I just came to tell you I’m going into hiding indefinitely. There’s no one left, its chaos out there. Cahir is still trying to hunt down those few that managed to escape and I’m at the top of his list, so I’m running. I have a flight in a few hours, I’m leaving the country and changing my identity. As far as I’m aware he doesn’t know about you, but…” she glanced towards Jaskier, “I don’t know how long that will last. Your lover does not exactly have the quiet, hidden life, so be careful. Please.”

It was a very sincere plea for safety, and the genuine worry on her face made Geralt feel rather soft towards her.

“Yen…”

“I’m not mad at you by the way, because I know that’s what you’ve been thinking. You did your job, you told me to run and I did. I got out alive, thanks to you. You’re still the one and only person I trust, which is why I want you to have this.” She paused and reached into her pocket, holding out a small black USB stick. “It carries the location of where I’m going and my new identity. You don’t have to look at it, in fact it’s probably best you don’t, but…” she fidgeted for a moment, looking awkward, like the feeling she was trying to process was causing her pain, “I just wanted someone from my old life to know where I am. Even if you never look, just to know that you have this will be enough for me.”

Geralt looked down to it, such a tiny thing to hold such important information, but he didn’t take it, “Yen you can’t give that to me. It’s too dangerous, what if it falls into the wrong hands this could comprise your entire-“

“It’s not falling into the wrong hands it’s falling into _your_ hands. And yes I know it’s not like me to be sentimental but there we go, I’ve had what you might call a _shit_ few days so excuse me for wanting someone to remember me.” When he still didn’t take it, Yennefer huffed angrily and threw the small hard drive in the horse bowl they were standing next to. “Just keep it Geralt, just…” she trailed off, the anger in her deflating, and she suddenly looked so miserable, “just let me be in your life somewhere.”

Geralt looked down to the bowl, seeing the drive sitting amongst all the crap that had accumulated since Jaskier moved in, “Will I see you again?” he asked quietly, looking back to her.

She gazed up at him, at the man she had bedded so many times and yet never let him have her heart, the one thing he had actually wanted.

“No.” she said, a sorrow to her voice, for now saying goodbye was making her realise that perhaps he had always had her heart, she’d just been so used to not feeling it she hadn’t even noticed that she’d given it away, “Which incidentally means your contract is null and void. I no longer require your services Geralt…you can have your own life.” Then completely unexpectedly she leant up, and pressed a small, lingering kiss to his cheek, “Do something good with it.”

“ _Ahem_!! Yes he’s doing _me_ and I’m _extremely_ good!”

Yennefer pulled away, both of them with smirks on their faces as they turned to face Jaskier who was still behind the sofa, looking up like meercat peering over the top with a pout to his lips.

“You are aware of what you just said right?” Geralt asked.

“There’s no need to be jealous _Julian_ ,” Yennefer said, “he’s all yours I can promise you that. Look after him,” she then looked back up to Geralt, her expression soft and honest, “he needs it.”

“Yeah, tell me about it,” Jaskier scoffed, “we’re going to need to win the lottery to pay off the bills for bandages.” He mumbled.

“Jaskier.” Geralt warned, but fondly.

“Alright, I better be going.” Yennefer gave Geralt a small, sad smile, “Goodbye Geralt, and thank you, for everything.”

Geralt gazed at her, not quite comprehending that this was all happened, “Goodbye Yen.” He replied softly, and with one last quick unhappy smile she turned, heading back out the door and towards the lift.

Geralt watched her go, right to the last second when the lift doors closed in front of her, her eyes meeting his one last time. Geralt was unsure how long he remained standing there, watching the closed lifts doors long since the lift had gone to the ground, but suddenly Jaskier was beside him. He was handing him the crutch Geralt had left behind, so Geralt shuffled slightly on his good foot to get it in place and was relieved with the pressure it took off his leg.

“You okay?” Jaskier asked softly, holding onto his arm.

Was he okay? Yennefer was terrifying at the best of times, but always had a soft spot for him despite her murderer intentions. She was bad, one of the worst, the kind of person Geralt had killed in past times, but…they had been lovers, and she was a friend. She was an enigma.

“Yeah.” Geralt said quietly. 

He was okay, but that didn’t mean he wasn’t going to miss her.

“Does this mean what I think it means?” Jaskier then asked him.

“It means I’m no longer in her employment.” Geralt looked to him, so many thoughts running through his mind, that he’d never see Yennefer again, that the danger out there was so high, and that with no bodyguarding job that meant that he was…well…

“It means I’m free.”

* * *

Geralt didn’t know how to feel. Yennefer had been a big part of life, and now she was gone, just like that. He was no longer her bodyguard, in fact there wasn’t any family he could serve, he was free from all of it. Or he would be, if not for Cahir. They couldn’t hide in this penthouse forever, and Jaskier’s un-spoken suggestion of killing Cahir first before he had a chance may very well be the only way to be truly free. Cahir was now a mass-murderer, entire families wiped out, Geralt had no qualms about putting him in the ground.

Then there was Renfri to deal with. He didn’t want to kill her, but he saw it in her eyes, she was hell bent on killing him. A life spent searching for her revenge was not going to be easily swayed at the last minute. Her anger was all she knew, Geralt didn’t blame her, and felt so guilty for being the reason she turned out this way. But that was not going to stop him from protecting Jaskier, no matter what that entailed. If she didn’t back off then Geralt would be forced to complete the set, his first murders. It made a chill run down his spine. He just had to hope he was wrong, had to hope that if…when, they met again, he could somehow talk her out of it.

He didn’t want to complete that set.

Because Yennefer was right, Geralt may be able to hide but Jaskier couldn’t, if anything he was the opposite, his job brought him amongst people made him recognisable. Geralt told himself he’d have to behave, let his leg heal don’t put any unneeded pressure on it. The sooner he healed the sooner he could deal with Cahir and Renfri and the quicker he and Jaskier could have a normal life.

A normal life.

Was that even possible?

“Okay, I’m off, and yes I’ll still phone every ten minutes.”

“Five minutes.

“FI- okay okay, five minutes.”

Geralt was sitting back on the sofa with his leg resting up on it, flat across the seats. They had waited four hours after Yennefer had left, just on Geralt’s suggestion, just _in case_. Knowing Cahir was hunting down those that had survived made him even more terrified for Jaskier’s safety, but he couldn’t _do anything_!

“Make sure you do.” He insisted, and Jaskier just smiled at him sweetly, bending down to give him a quick kiss, Geralt sliding his hand down Jaskier’s arm as he did and taking his hand in his own.

“I will. I understand don’t worry I’m taking it seriously I promise. I don’t…” he paused for a moment, “I don’t want to have my life threatened again. Not fun. And I’ll keep an eye out.”

Geralt ran his thumb over Jaskier’s knuckles, “Be as quick as you can.”

Jaskier nodded, and Geralt reluctantly let him go as he headed over to the front door. Geralt had to smile though, shaking his head lightly when he heard the usual bonk of the horse bowl as Jaskier nearly knocked it over for the millionth time. Geralt turned and gazed over the back of the sofa just as Jaskier was putting it back, having caught it again.

Jaskier looked over to him, and smiled sheepishly.

“One day Jaskier, one day.”

* * *

Jaskier had phoned him every five minutes as promised. He reported an old woman giving him the eye on a bench, a fan who actually propositioned him in the middle of the pharmacy, and his agent who may very well kill him if he didn’t do all the jobs and appearances he’d now been forced to re-sign up for. Other than that, no suspicious people, nothing out of the ordinary, and he’d returned with food and bandages and more painkillers. And a very clingy Geralt to greet him, who insisted more than usual in following him around the penthouse as he put the food and medicine away.

“I’m not putting any pressure on my leg at all I swear, I’m fine!”

“Oh dear god those two words again _SIT!!_ ”

Like a puppy with ears down Geralt sat back down on the sofa, Jaskier physically moving his leg back up on it again so it was elevated and could rest.

Later that evening Jaskier then checked the stitching on Geralt’s thigh. It did look a mess like he said, but it was holding together, and it was healing. There would be a very big nasty scar there though, just another one to add to the many. So after a nice meal and fresh bandages and trying to relax in front of the television for a bit, although Geralt still had nothing in his mind but Cahir and Renfri, they slipped off to bed together again.

“I suppose…I’m going to have to get a job.” Geralt murmured into Jaskier’s hair, spooning around him, finding it comfortable to lay on his side with his bad thigh facing upwards.

Jaskier’s arms were wrapped around Geralt’s where they cuddled him across his chest, “Not necessarily. I can bring in the money, you could be my _kept_ boyfriend, how does that sound?” he grinned.

Geralt let out a small chuckle, “What, hanging around here to be at your sexual beck and call all day and night? Hmm, sounds great.”

They both laughed, and it was sweet, and wonderful, and then Geralt hissed and laughed through his pain that Jaskier needed to stop making him laugh because the movement was hurting his leg. Through a few more struggles to contain the laughing they both stopped, and Jaskier clasped Geralt’s hand to his chest, squeezing it so tightly.

“Today’s been a strange day.” He said.

 _It’s been a strange two months,_ Geralt thought, “Yeah, but I’m glad you were here with me through it.”

Jaskier brought Geralt’s hand to his lips, placing a loving little kiss on it, “Always.”

There was a lot to take in today, a lot that needed to be processed. Mainly that Yennefer was gone, that was the strangest out of all of it. But no matter the laughter and the warmth that came from being with Jaskier, all Geralt could think about was the danger they were all in. Far worse than ever before, he felt like they were lambs waiting for the slaughter, waiting for inevitable attack.

He had to heal, he had to deal with Cahir, he had to protect Jaskier. They were both trying to act normal, to laugh, to do shopping, to not talk about what was going to have to be done, as though Geralt having one more murder on his list wasn’t hanging in the air. But he knew Jaskier understood, it was him who suggested it after all. One more, Geralt would be free, and hundreds of deaths would be avenged.

He hugged Jaskier tighter, almost covering him entirely with his own body. No one was hurting him. Not now, not ever, and if Cahir tried he would regret it in the few seconds Geralt would let him live before he’d tear the lungs from his chest.

* * *

“GERALT!”

There was a smash and suddenly Geralt was awake, but there was no time at all to focus on what was happening, only that there were shadows moving quickly in the dark and Jaskier was screaming as he was dragged off the bed. Geralt leapt out of bed, his thigh screaming just as loudly as his full weight went onto it, but Geralt did nothing but grab the first shadow that went by and punch it square in the face, adrenaline instantly pumping through him dulling the pain and heightening his senses. The shadow went down, but there was another on him, and another, holding his arms holding him back, and he could see the faint dark outline of Jaskier being dragged by his hair along the floor to the door, still screaming Geralt’s name.

“JAS-“

Geralt couldn’t say the rest of his name, for something heavy had just struck the back of his head, and his eyes rolled as he went down.

* * *

“Mmm...nn…Ja…skier…wha…w- _what_?!”

Just as suddenly as before Geralt was awake, but this time he instantly placed his hand to the back of his head, the pain throbbing there almost unbearable, and so close to his other head wound. He groaned as he picked himself up off the floor, letting out a bark of pain as his other hand went straight to his thigh, pressing down on the stab wound hard. He stood unsteadily on his feet, blinking half blind around the room. There was no sunlight peering in from around those curtains, so it was still night time, so he hobbled over to the light switch. What greeted him as light filled the room was an absolute mess. All the draws were pulled open and their contents dumped, his clothes from the wardrobe were strewn across the floor, even the knives from the box he kept them in were scattered across the carpet.

It took a moment for him to remember what had happened, for his terribly aching head to realise there was a very important thing missing.

“Jaskier…” he whispered, terrified as the memory of the night returned, and suddenly the leg and the head didn’t matter as he ran out that bedroom, “JASKIER!”

The rest of the penthouse was an equal mess. Everything had been ripped from where it lived, all cupboards open and their contents pulled and scattered across the floor.

“JASKIER! FUCK ANSWER ME JASKIER!”

The fear that was coursing through him was the only thing keeping him upright. He half limped half ran quickly through every room, no crutches, his leg screaming at him, but nothing compared to the pain ripping through his heart as every room came up empty except for more mess. He ran back to the front door, which was hanging off its hinges. There was no one in the foyer either, the lift door had been jammed open but there was no lift there, the bastards had come up through fucking shaft!

“JASKIER!” he bellowed again, but there was nothing but silence, “JASKier…” he trailed off breathlessly, “what…what have they…”

He then saw an A4 piece of paper pinned to the back of the door with one of his own knives. Geralt ripped it off.

_Castrated Wolf._

_I know she gave you a hard drive with her location. Bring it to my estate, or I will start carving pieces off your singer._

There was no name at the end, but there didn’t need to be. Terror and fury filled Geralt’s veins, and he looked to his horse bowl where Yennefer had placed the drive, only to see it smashed on the floor. He knelt down, ignoring the white hot agony in his thigh, and ran his fingers hurriedly through the mess that had fallen from it. He caught his fingers on the sharp China, they bled, he didn’t care. He searched and searched and moved bits out the way, but the drive wasn’t here. How could it not be here?! He hadn’t touched it since Yennefer put it there! They must have it, they’d torn this place apart looking for it, it was in this bowl the bowl was smashed on the floor why are they telling him to bring it they must already have it FUCK what was going on!?!

Where was it?! He wasn’t even thinking about Yennefer all he had in his head was if they want that stupid little drive that he hadn’t wanted in the first place fine take it he didn’t care just give Jaskier back!

No…no wait that wasn’t right, Geralt needed to calm down, take a breath, that’s not what would happen and he knew it. He’d already made it clear to himself what would happen, that Cahir would die the most painful death he could give him, there was no need to betray Yennefer and hand over the drive. He was being caught up in a panicked rage so he made himself calm, he made himself think. Whatever had happened to the drive didn’t matter, because Cahir and every one of his men who did this were going to be piles of bloodied mush on the floor by the time Geralt was done with them.

He ran back to his bedroom, despite his leg wanting to collapse beneath him, and quickly got dressed. On his belt he placed numerous sheathes for knives, before picking up the knives scattered over the floor and fitting as many as he could on his belt. He also picked up the gun holsters that he rarely used, preferring to just stick it between his belted waist, but he needed more than one gun this time. He then grabbed his trusty gun, a handful of spare bullets, and another gun that was locked in deposit box hidden at the very top of the wardrobe at the back, one Jaskier had never found.

Prepared and ready, he took one look around at his destroyed home, one last look down at the horse bowl smashed on the floor, and snarled.

Cahir had once accused them all of thinking they’re untouchable, well now Cahir thought the same, spinning high on his accomplishment of destroying the underworld from within for his own selfish gains. Everything had gone so smoothly for him, but he had made one mistake, one mistake that was going to cost him everything he’d achieved.

He’d taken Jaskier, and that meant death to everyone that came between Geralt and finding him.

 _Everyone_.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yes, the next chapter will have the scene from the very beginning of this fic. AH I'M EXCITED!


	14. “I don’t know where it is.”

“So umm…any of you my fans?”

Jaskier sat on a regular wooden dining chair, hands each handcuffed to the armrests, feet each tied to a front chair leg. There were four other men in the room with him, all of them armed, and none of them paying him the slightest bit of attention. One was by the ajar door, constantly peering out of it, another looking equally as anxious by the window. The other two lounged around on the mouldy sofa that fit in well in this backstreet living room.

“I mean you do know who you’ve kidnapped right?” Jaskier continued, “Julian Pankratz? The guy whose new album just reached number one? I’m like, _the_ guy out there.” He paused, but none of them so much as glanced his way, “Now I’m _really_ famous my agent is organising my first world tour, isn’t that great? You knoooow, if you guys let me go I could get you tickets? For free of course. Back stage ones too?”

The man by the window turned to look at him, “You can’t buy your way out of this.”

“Oohhh no no no no you don’t understand, I’m not trying to _buy_ my way out, I’m trying to save _your_ lives.” Jaskier said, quite seriously, “I hope you understand Geralt will kill you all for this? You’re going to undo _all_ my hard work! Here I am trying to get him to _stop_ killing people and you’re forcing his hand! Because there’s no way he’s letting any of you go for this, you all realise that yes? I’ve seen what my man can do first hand believe me you are all dead unless you let me go.”

“Someone shut him up.” The one by the door growled.

One of the men on the sofa stood up, and Jaskier smiled awkwardly as he towered over him. The man then clenched his fist and punched him hard in the cheek, sending Jaskier’s head flying to the side at the force.

“Ow.” Jaskier stated with indignity, his tongue touching the inside of his cheek, “Okay that was uncalled for I’m trying to save your lives here I’m-“

Another forceful punch to same cheek, slightly lower, this one splitting Jaskier’s bottom lip on impact. Jaskier groaned, sucking in air through clenched teeth, and the man stayed there glaring down at him waiting to see if he’d start speaking again. We he didn’t, he sat back down on the sofa. Jaskier slowly turned his head back to face the front, his tongue tasting the iron in his blood on his lip.

It had been a very undignified kidnapping, as kidnappings went, he had been naked in bed at the time after all. Hands were everywhere as he was taken forcefully from the penthouse, but he wasn’t making it easy for them, dignity or no dignity, and he squirmed as much as he could, forcing one of them to put their hand over his mouth to keep him quiet. They all bundled into the lift that one of them had stayed behind to hot wire to work with the broken door still open after climbing up all 45 floors, and then down they went. One of them ended up kneeing him in the stomach to try and get him to stop moving. That worked long enough for them to get to the ground floor and forcibly shove him into a black van waiting outside the front. Only then did someone throw some clothes at him, and as soon as he was dressed they had him in handcuffs and told not to move or speak.

Well that wasn’t going to happen.

He tried to charm his way out, just as he was trying with his four guards now, but it was just as successful as it earned him a few more hard kicks to the stomach, which on top of the first now had him doubled over and winded for most of the journey. He was then dragged out of the van in front of a square and ugly block of cement flats, pathway balconies along each level connecting every front door on the outside of every floor, with a heavily graffitied cement staircase going up the side. There were people everywhere, all just as heavily armed, and who appeared to be patrolling the area. Jaskier was sure they were still in London, the journey hadn’t been that long.

He was then pushed up those stairs to the 7th floor, and found himself flung onto a chair in the dingiest little flat he’d ever seen, and handcuffed to it. That was three hours ago. He’d listened to the men talking amongst themselves, and the name Cahir had been mentioned quite a few times. Jaskier recognised that name from what Geralt told him, he was the one responsible for that wedding. Oh Geralt was going to kill them all for this, and as genuinely terrifying as this all was there was a small part of him deep inside that couldn’t turn off the _protection_ kink, and would wait happily for his pretty puppy rescuer and most definitely give him a big treat for this. Because he would come, of course he would, there was no doubt.

Jaskier would be safe again. He would. Geralt would rescue him.

“You know did it occur to anyone that maybe I’m just talking because I’m nervous I mean you have all got guns and it’s not like I’ve been kidnapped before are there rules how does it all work I really would like to get this over with as soon as possib-“

The man by the window snarled and slipped out a pocket knife as he stormed up to Jaskier, “SHUT UP!” and slashed him across the chest with it.

Jaskier let out a small, terrified shriek as he did it, the pain ripping across his chest as sharp as the knife, stinging so much it made him hunch over as much as his restraints would allow, teeth clenched in hot pain. It wasn’t a deep slash, but enough to be very painful, cutting through the material of his shirt and staining it with red as droplets of blood dripped from his wound like rain droplets falling from a washing line.

“Okay…” Jaskier huffed, “point taken.” His voice shivered with fear and pain, and he closed his mouth, breathing in heavily through his nose as his chest stung so badly.

He’d be quiet.

* * *

“Well well well, look who it is.”

One of the two guards by the staircase grinned, gripping his machine gun in a ready position in front of him. Geralt was approaching them from the shadows, a determined purpose to his slow walk, armed to the teeth, with his gun in one hand and one of the many large knives on his belt in the other. He stopped just ahead of them and tilted his head, regarding them quietly.

He knew this place, he’d been before, back when he’d guarded Yennefer on a visit to Cahir’s father back before he became sick. The Nilfgaard’s really were the bottom of the crime family pile. They owned plenty of buildings, most of which were in this surrounding area, but they were rundown and dirty and reminded Geralt a lot of the old Blaviken gang and the company they kept. Druggies mostly.

The other guard spoke into a radio on his shoulder, “He’s here.”

“That Cahir?” Geralt enquired calmly.

“Yeah, we’re under instructions to take you to the Boss.”

“But if you think you’re getting in there with all that on you,” the other one gestured to the weapons covering Geralt’s belt, “then you’re smoking some bad shit. You have to disarm before we take you anywhere.”

“Well then you have a problem,” Geralt said, his voice deep and focused, “because I’m not de-arming, and I don’t need you to take me anywhere.”

In a flash he threw the knife he was holding into the thigh of the guard who’d radioed Cahir. He knew how much that particular place hurt. The man let out a short scream before swearing loudly as he went down, grasping the knife but not taking it out, shaking and not knowing what to do with it. The other aimed his machine gun at Geralt but Geralt was already on him, slamming him against the wall, hand squeezing his throat and lifting him off the ground with just the one arm.

“You know who I am?” he growled threateningly, and the man tried to nod quickly, terrified, his hands scrambling at his throat.

“The butcher…” he croaked out.

“That’s right. I killed morons like you when I was only twelve, think what I can do to you now.”

The man with the knife in his thigh was squirming on the ground, but even through his pain he tried to reach for his own gun. Geralt saw him out the corner of his eye and kicked him hard in the face. He went sprawling, blood pouring from his nose as he laid there motionless, unconscious.

The man he was strangling tried to knee Geralt in the groin but missed, hitting his thankfully un-wounded thigh. Geralt holstered his own gun and grabbed the machine gun that was hanging from the mans shoulder strap and shoved it off him, pointing it directly into his stomach which instantly stilled him in fear.

“The others…” the guard choked out, “…won’t let you…near Cahir…with weapons…”

“Then I guess I have a lot of bodies to get through.” Geralt stated, “Where is he?”

“S-seventh floor…door 75…he’ll kill you for this.”

Geralt leant in close to him and snarled, “He can try.”

He then dropped him to the ground, the man gasping in ragged breaths on his hands and knees. Geralt went to turn to the stairs but stopped, looking back down at him. There was a deep anger inside Geralt right now, one that wanted to get out.

“I do have one question. Are you one of the people who broke into my home? Who took Julian?”

Despite knowing who he was talking to and despite still struggling for air, the man couldn’t help the smug look on his face as he looked up to him, “Got a set of lungs on him that one, don’t he?”

Geralt grit his teeth in an even more vicious snarl, and without a thought or a pause he raised the machine gun he’d taken and shot the man right through the head, the gun letting loose several bullets at once as was its type. Geralt felt nothing as the body thumped to the ground, nothing as the blood poured out onto the concrete. That man had invaded his home, kidnapped the one and only person Geralt had ever loved, and there was little mercy in his heart today.

Shooting him had been a mistake though, for it brought the attention of everyone else along the pathways above, faces leaning over the banisters, voices and footsteps now echoing as the other guards raced to the staircase. This entire building housed the Nilfgaard family and their workers and hirlings, every single person here was an enemy.

Geralt sighed. This was going to be bloody.

But he was furious, and wrathful, and they’d _taken his Jaskier._

* * *

Jaskier lifted his head at the sound of distant gun shots, “Geralt? GERALT?! I’M IN HERE GERAL-mpff MMMPFF!”

The other man on the sofa stuffed Jaskier’s mouth with a piece of cloth before tying a longer one around his head, fastening it tight around his mouth so it was impossible for him to speak.

“Should’ve done that in the first place.” Said the man by the window.

There was a lot of yelling and screaming coming from everywhere as blurs raced past that window, and all the men suddenly became far more anxious, holding their guns a little tighter and a little closer.

“Everyone stay where they are.” said the main by the door, “Cahir will bring him here.”

Jaskier knew it had to be Geralt, no one else would be causing this much fuss, but…that was a heck of a lot of gun shots out there. What if Geralt……Jaskier screwed his eyes tightly shut. Oh no, don’t even let that thought in. Now it was actually happening, Jaskier’s momentary happy thought of having Geralt storm the place and rescue him like something out of a fairy tale was feeling rather more frightening than he’d hoped.

If Geralt got into serious trouble, well…who guarded the guardian?

* * *

It was never ending. It wasn’t just the guards Geralt was fighting, but out of every flat more and more people were emerging with weapons, all sending out someone to fight the madman trying to get in. It was Geralt against the entire Nilfgaard. Blood splattered against him as he took down one body after another, and another, taking their weapons as his ran out, dodging bullets that would go flying past him embedding into the dull grey wall behind him. He’d only made it to the 4th floor so far and the stairwell was already littered with bodies and blood. 

Every floor he got to he had to fight past the people shooting at him down the balcony corridors before he could make it up to the next one. People hid behind their front doors and aimed at him as he tried to go up. Some came at him with knives, battling with all the strength they had to overpower him. Some screamed in terror as they were thrown down the stairs, others screamed in fury as they ran up towards him, more bullets bouncing off the walls that he’d have to duck and pray they didn’t ricochet back into him. Some came from above, piling on him, Geralt was surrounded by all angles but still he kept going. He had to keep going, he had to get Jaskier out of here before they hurt him.

It was that thought that kept him going, the thought they may have hurt Jaskier already, may have…tortured him. Every time his body tired, every time the blood seeped through his injured leg where the stiches couldn’t take the pressure anymore and were falling apart, every time he paused hidden behind a wall to catch his breath before facing the onslaught before him, he thought of Jaskier.

He wasn’t following orders this time, he wasn’t protecting him because of a contract or because it was his job, he was protecting him because he couldn’t live without him. Love was a contract you didn’t even realise you’d signed. You never read the small print, never even really read the big print, you just know that one day suddenly you want to protect them with everything you have, to keep them safe at all costs, and by all the gods out there Geralt would take down this entire sickening family in one night if they forced him to.

He wasn’t killing all of them, some he left injured enough not to be a threat, but most didn’t give him a choice. Even though none of them were actually aiming to kill him, which was something he noticed as he went up. Cahir’s orders he suspected. Geralt had information he wanted, or at least thought he had information he wanted, and therefore wanted him alive. But that didn’t mean Geralt’s attackers weren’t trying to wound him badly, after all who needed a leg or an arm so long as one could speak?

The proof of that came with the injuries Geralt had received as he battled his way up. Several bullets had nearly hit him, scraping by at the edges of his legs and arms, taking chunks of flesh out as they went by. Knife slashes littered everywhere just like the time he’d been attacked by Cahir’s men before, blood seeping out over his slashed clothes. A thankfully smaller knife, what felt like a pocket knife, stabbed its way into Geralt’s side. Geralt let out a singular cry of pain before reaching round to his attacker and stabbing him through the side of the head with his own knife. The stab hadn’t hit anything vital in Geralt’s side, but it bled a lot.

Geralt could already picture Jaskier yelling at him, complaining again at having to take care of him. He knew Jaskier hated it, hell Geralt knew he’d hate it if he had to look after Jaskier. Not because of any inconvenience, but because of seeing him in pain, of suffering. He’d _despise_ that.

Fuck, if they’d hurt him…

Geralt swore at the man who’d leapt on him from the stair railings above, the man slashing him right across his eyebrow down to his cheek, thankfully missing his eye. Geralt smashed his palm into the mans face and slammed his head into the concrete wall. Geralt didn’t know if the crack was from the wall or his skull, he was already turning away to fall heavily against the wall behind him as a round of bullets shot past him, the man he’d let go slumping to the floor, eyes staring at nothing.

Geralt’s hair tie had come loose, his hair now a mess around his face and spattered with blood like the rest of him. Red dripped from his eyebrow into his eye and Geralt rubbed furiously at it, wiping the blood away before he screamed like a rabid animal and turned the corner. He fired his gun at the group of men approaching him along the open balcony, shattering their knees, all of them screaming in agony as Geralt turned the knife in his other hand so the blade faced downwards before stabbing it out behind him into the man trying to jump him from behind. He then run up the next flight of stairs.

“GERALT RIVIA!!”

Geralt knew that voice.

He’d finally made it to the 7th floor, and he hid behind another wall, the open doorway to the balcony beside him. He was panting heavily, but the pain that rippled throughout his entire body didn’t stop him from re-filling his gun with bullets and preparing for the worst.

“You’ve made your point Geralt! Come on out, I’ve ordered my men to stand down!” Cahir was standing halfway down the balcony, two heavily armed men flanking him, “but know if you try to harm me in any way, I’ve also ordered them to kill your lover boy. So come out, put your weapons on the ground, and kick them towards me.”

Geralt grit his teeth hard, there wasn’t a chance in hell he was walking out there unarmed. He had to hope Cahir’s need for keeping him alive would keep him rational, for if Geralt had any chance of getting himself and Jaskier out alive he’d need his weapons. He took in a shaky breath, and then stepped out, but his gun pointed out ahead of him straight at Cahir. The two men beside Cahir instantly raised their own guns, but Cahir placed each hand on their arms.

“Wait.” He whispered, “Now _wolf_ that is not what I said.” He stated louder so Geralt could hear.

“I don’t give a _fuck_ what you said,” Geralt growled, walking cautiously towards him, “I’m keeping you in my sights. One wrong move and I will kill you.”

“Then you will kill Julian, and these two will kill you.”

“Well you better not make a wrong move then.”

Cahir considered him for a moment, considered the battered, bleeding state he was in, the way his leg shook every time he stepped on it, blood dripping from his thigh and many other places, and the gun still trained on him.

He smiled his slippery, unpleasant smile. No matter these threats, Geralt would never fire on him for fear of killing that singer, another one who had tamed the butcher. Cahir was perfectly safe no matter how many weapons he threatened him with.

“Very well.” He said, and the two men beside him exchanged concerned glances with each other, raising their guns to Geralt a little higher in response, “Where’s the hard drive?”

Now, this is where Geralt had reached the point that he didn’t know what do to next. He didn’t have the hard drive, he didn’t know what had happened to it, but the only logical option was that one of Cahir’s men had taken it and either not told Cahir, or Cahir _did_ have it and this was all some sick joke. Something he didn’t put past him. 

When it came down to it Geralt had two options. If he told Cahir he had the drive, which he didn’t, and then pretended to just refuse to give it up, he’d be risking Jaskier’s life too much. On the other hand, would Cahir know he was lying because he already had it, and would then spend his time torturing him for fun?

The second option, was if he told him he didn’t have the drive, Cahir would assume he’s lying about it because of his loyalty to Yennefer, and would therefore try to torture it out of him anyway, even though Geralt genuinely didn’t know what had happened to it.

Two evils, neither of which ended in any way he wanted…but he had to choose. He had to figure out a way of getting Jaskier safely out of here. He didn’t know how, but he _had_ to. If it ended up being the last thing he did before he was murdered by Cahir, he would rescue Jaskier.

“I don’t know where it is.” He chose, “The place where it was, it wasn’t there when I checked. One of your men must have taken it.”

Cahir raised an eyebrow and turned to one of the men beside him, who looked to his boss with confusion and panic, “We searched every part of that place, we didn’t find anything.” He said.

“It was in the bowl by the door,” Geralt clarified, wanting to look like he was cooperating, despite the gun still pointed at Cahir, “which I found smashed by the way, so thanks for that.” He couldn’t help the snide remark. He loved that little bowl.

The man shook his head defiantly, “No no I checked that myself, there was nothing there.”

Cahir turned back to Geralt with a disturbing smile, and a sigh that said more that he had been expecting this, “I don’t believe you.”

So Cahir thought he was lying, just as Geralt suspected he would.

“I don’t care if you believe me Cahir,” Geralt growled at him, “I’m here to get Julian and leave, and if you’ve touched one hair on his head I swear yours will be on the ground next.”

Cahir regarded him again for a moment, looking him up and down once more, before smiling that slimy smile again.

“Hmm, perhaps seeing him will jog your memory. Follow me.”

He turned around, but his men didn’t. They walked backwards keeping their guns trained on Geralt as Geralt followed them, his own gun not leaving the back of Cahir’s head. They turned into one of the front doors of a flat, number 75 just like the guard at the stairs had said. It was a tight squeeze, the place was small and dimly lit, and it made Geralt very, very uncomfortable as the men moved around him. They stood in a tiny hallway, wallpaper peeling off the walls, a few doors further down leading to other rooms. Geralt kept as close to Cahir as the guards would allow, Cahir continuing to seem unthreatened by the gun pointing at his head. He was smugly satisfied in his safety that Geralt wouldn’t kill him, because that would kill his lover.

Cahir turned to him as they stood outside one of the plain white doors to another room, “Excuse the dilapidated appearance of my home, but of course now I control _everything_ , I will soon have enough money coming in to re-build that old Cintra mansion three times bigger and call it my own.”

“How nice for you.” Geralt sniped.

“I’m going to ask you one more time before we go in there. Where is that hard drive?”

“I don’t know.” Geralt replied through gritted teeth. 

He was starting to get scared. This whole situation was unknown, and he hated being in the unknown. He’d been so blinded by fury to get here as soon as possible and get Jaskier out he hadn’t actually planned how. He just knew he’d kill everyone in his way. But this now felt different, this felt like he was being the lamb led to slaughter, but the guns pointing at him gave him little choice but to comply.

Cahir just smiled, one that looked a little more forced this time.

“Very well.”

He opened the door and led him through, and instantly the four other men inside trained their own guns on Geralt, the two behind following through.

“Jaskier!” Geralt exclaimed, so overwhelmingly relieved to see him sitting there, but his eyes instantly darkened dangerously when he saw what state he was in.

He saw him handcuffed to the chair, saw the cloth around his mouth and the blood trickling from his lip. He saw the bruise forming on his cheek where he’d obvious been hit, and most of all, he saw the slash across his chest, the bright blood standing out against the pale blue fabric. He could see it wasn’t too deep, but it didn’t matter how deep it was, because that would have hurt, and hurting Jaskier meant _death to all of them._

Jaskier was staring up at Geralt with such relief, but there was still a little remaining dread there, plus a certain smugness towards his captors that he was about to be saved. He strongly believed he would be saved, because this was Geralt, the man who saved people for a living. They would both walk out of here alive and…well, not unharmed, so it would seem.

Jaskier took in the state Geralt was in, blood and wounds everywhere _again_. He struggled against his bindings at the sight of him, trying to lean towards him as Cahir walked round behind him and placed his hand on the back of the chair. But Jaskier didn’t care about him, he could see in Geralt’s eyes how much pain he was in even if he kept it well hidden from the others. He knew him, knew him so well he knew every expression in those colourful eyes. Geralt’s breath was coming short and heavy, but his arm was steady where he pointed his handgun. Those golden eyes were furiously focused on Cahir, the man that was going to die a thousand painful deaths for this, Jaskier knew it.

It was a standoff.

“Let him go,” Geralt growled aggressively, entirely ignoring the other six men and the six guns all on him, “or I swear I will kill everyone in this room.”

A muffled sound came from Jaskier, and Cahir simply smiled again.

“You are far too outnumbered to be making threats like that. Now you know what I want. Tell me where it is, and once its safely retrieved I will let your little twink boy go.”

“ _Fuck_ you.” Geralt snarled, but otherwise did not move.

Cahir’s lips curled once more. He had taken out his own hand gun, and Geralt didn’t realise what was happening until it was too late. Where Cahir was standing behind the chair he suddenly hit Jaskier hard on the jaw with the butt of the gun. Jaskier was unable to see it coming, to prepare himself, and his head snapped to the side with a loud muffled grunt of pain, eyes tightly shut as he moaned and tried to cough through the cloth blocking his mouth.

Geralt snarled savagely loudly and took a quick threatening step forward, but the men around him closed in on him further, and he had no choice but to stop.

“Where is it?” Cahir asked again, “We know you were given it. All you have to do is tell us the location, not so hard is it?” His voice was running out of patience.

Geralt’s own jaw clenched hard, his mind running wild, frustration coursing through him as his finger over the trigger pulled that little bit tighter. How the hell did Cahir even _know_ about it?!

“ _I don’t know_ where it is.”

He didn’t know and he was beginning to suspect that Cahir didn’t know, that this wasn’t a game after all, so where the _fuck_ was it? He was panicking now this was all wrong! He didn’t know how he was going to get out of this, Cahir was hurting Jaskier, he was surrounded by guns he didn’t know what to do! He’d never shoot them all in time before they shot him, he’d be dead on the ground leaving Jaskier at their mercy!

Unless…

He was already injured so much already, perhaps so much adrenaline was coursing through him he’d be able to…to survive long enough to kill them all…to make sure Jaskier lived…before he succumbed to wherever these six bullets would pierce him and…

Cahir was _really_ beginning to lose his patience now. He stepped to Jaskier’s side and shoved the gun into the side of his prisoners neck, up against the jaw he’d just hit. Jaskier let out a high-pitched whine of panic, his eyes now wide with fear.

“WHERE IS IT? OR DO YOU REALLY WANT TO SEE HIS BRAINS SPLATTERED AGAINST THE WALL?!” 

There was no other choice.

 _“FUCK YOU!”_ Geralt screamed back, and he squeezed the trigger, as did all the men surrounding him.

But they weren’t firing at Geralt.

At the same time there’d been a crash both behind him and from the window to his right. Other unknown people came hurtling through them and instantly firing at all of Cahir’s men. Geralt would have reacted to the bodies dropping dead all around him, but he was more focused on the look Cahir was giving him. It was a look frozen in time, a look of utter surprise, of not understanding. He had been relying on Geralt being cautious to save the singer, he never actually believed he would…actually shoot.

All these thoughts had flashed across his eyes in only a split moment, for the single bleeding hole in his forehead prevented much of anything else. The gun slipped from his fingers, toppling down Jaskier’s very much alive body, his own pulse-less form collapsing backwards with a thud, his still confused eyes staring blankly at the yellow-tainted ceiling. The King of the Underworld was dead.

The White Wolf had killed his prey.

“Damn it, I wanted to do that.”

Geralt suddenly began panting like he’d run a marathon, not realising he’d been holding his breath, and although he was filled with utter shock and confusion and turning briefly to see _Yennefer_ standing beside him, staring at her like he’d seen a ghost, he ran to Jaskier first. Using one of his knives he cut Jaskier’s legs free of his bonds, and then used it to tear the handcuff chains in half to free his hands. His wrists were still encased by a cuff each, but at least he was free. Finally he took the gag from his mouth, and with a cry of relief Jaskier was on him like a limpet.

“Geralt Geralt oh _Geralt_!!” He flung his arms around his neck and legs around his waist, kissing him so hard, burying his hands in that blood-matted hair, “Oh I knew you’d come get me I knew you would I love you!”

He kissed him again and again, over and over and moaning and oh, Geralt hugged him back so tightly, grabbing fistfuls of his shirt and squeezing him so tight where he crushed him against his chest. It didn’t matter that Jaskier was pressing against so many painful wounds, he wasn’t letting him go just because of a little pain. He was in his arms again, he was safe, he was alive.

“Jaskier, are you okay? They hurt you.”

“Hurt _me_?!” Jaskier finally put his legs down and let go of Geralt long enough to look him over, “Fucking hell Geralt look at _you_!” he reached up to run his finger gingerly down close to the slash over his eyebrow and cheek, “Yet another scar. There’s going to be nowhere left for you to _be_ scared soon.” His eyes then trailed down the rest of him, looking equally more worried as he went.

“It’s not all my blood.” Geralt said, trying to be comforting, while his own blood was slowly dripping down his body.

“Oh Geralt, you…” Jaskier didn’t even know what he was trying to say, he was just so relieved and worried for his loves health _yet again_ and, and… “what the hell is going on?” he said, looking to Yennefer, who’d had her own gun raised as she’d stormed the place with her men.

Geralt looked to her too, who was now indicating to her men to head back outside and take care of any remaining Nilfgaards, one remaining to check around the room, “Not that I’m not grateful for your very timely arrival Yen but what are you doing here? I thought you were leaving the country?”

Yennefer holstered her own gun and looked to them, “I was, until someone kidnapped me before I got there.”

Geralt raised his eyebrows high in shock, “Someone kidnapped _you_?”

“It’s a long story that I’ll explain later, you two should not be lingering around here. All you need to know is I knew you were here because Cahir would be after that drive. Nice to know you really are loyal Geralt.” She smiled, very sweetly for her.

“Unfortunately Yen, it’s not a case of being loyal, I don’t know where that drive is.” Geralt replied honestly.

“But I left it in that bowl.”

Geralt shrugged, “It wasn’t there.”

“Yeeeeaaah I can explain that.”

The two of them turned to Jaskier, who was looking rather sheepish, “You see…I’ve seen enough criminal tv shows to know that when someone hands someone a _secret document_ it’s only going to get them into trouble, sooo…”

Jaskier paused, still smiling awkwardly, and Geralt just crossed his arms, “Jaskier, what have you done?”

“Heh, remember when I nearly knocked the bowl over when I left to go shopping? Yeah that was a guise…I subtly took the drive out and left with it.”

Geralt sighed, annoyed, he shouldn’t have got himself involved the idiot!

“Where is it?”

“It’s with my grandmother in Poland.”

“What?” Yennefer said darkly.

“Yeah I posted it to her.” Jaskier said, sounding rather proud of himself now, “Well again you see in films and things if you want something important to disappear for a while just stick it in the post. I’d wait to see if anything bad happened here and once it was safe I’d get her to post it back.”

“The secret location and identity, of _Yennefer Venderberg_ …is with your _grandmother_?” Geralt stated.

“Oh please she barely knows how to use a toaster she wouldn’t even know what it is. I wrote a note with it to keep it safe.”

They both absolutely stared at him, before Yennefer let out a small, rather impressed chuckle, “Heh, not bad actually.”

Geralt glared at her, “Don’t encourage him.”

Yennefer gave him a smile, “Look you two need to go, we’re in the middle of enemy territory here, a territory I intend to claim, so go, now.”

“I supposed I should thank you for saving us.” Jaskier said to her, a truce of a smile on his lips.

“Hmm, I suppose.”

“And you.” Jaskier said, beaming up at Geralt, “My rescuer.” He leant up to kiss him again, a sweet little kiss that had Geralt smiling into it. Jaskier was here and okay, and they were going home.

Suddenly there was an extremely loud and frustrated scream, and a door on the other side of the room behind where Jaskier had been sitting suddenly burst open. One of Yennefer’s men had been opening it to check behind it, but it burst open from the other side and there was a gunshot and the man fell dead. For you see they had all missed something, something important, something Geralt’s eyes met with across the room as he looked up at the scream, breaking the kiss.

A few hours ago, a conversation had taken place in the kitchen of Cahir’s little rotten flat. A conversation where an order had been given.

_Stay hidden. Do not make a sound. Once the wolf has given up the hard drive he will be captured and then you can take your time causing him however much pain you want before killing him. But stay hidden, just on the off chance something should go wrong. You are my backup. You are my wild card. Stay here, and listen to the other side._

She was so fast Geralt barely had time to do much more than widen his eyes, even though it felt like time had slowed to a standstill. He met Renfri’s fiercely furious eyes, and all he could do was let a terrified panic wash through him like a poison as he silently begged her in those few tiny moments, _begged_ her, no…no… _please no…_

There was a bang, a crack, and another bang. The _second_ bang was Yennefer, her own gun raised as she shot Renfri through the neck, Renfri’s hand dropping her gun and coming to her throat to try and stop the violently spurting blood as she slowly sank to the floor. The crack had been Geralt’s wolf medallion. It had stopped Renfri’s bullet, embedding itself in the hard metal before the medallion broke entirely in two, clattering to the floor, saving Geralt’s life. The first bang had of course been Renfri firing that shot.

Firing it straight through Jaskier to get to Geralt.

There was still a faint happiness on Jaskier’s face, he’d just been kissing his pretty puppy after all, a thank you for saving him, a thank you for making it here alive. It was a happiness being slowly taken over by a very confused frown, and a hint of pain that he didn’t currently understand. He gazed at Geralt’s face, not moving, not…breathing, for when he tried, when he tried to take in a breath blood instantly curdled upwards, spluttering out, the happiness gone as absolute fear washed over his face. His hands grasped desperately at Geralt’s shirt as his legs gave way, Geralt catching him as he went down, blood pouring from the entry wound in his back and the exit wound on his front. The bullet had gone straight through his chest, straight through his left lung, puncturing it twice and now making it quickly fill with blood.

“ _Jaskier_!!”

Geralt grasped him tightly, staring disbelievingly at the hole in his chest, the blood seeping from it, feeling like all his own blood had frozen solid in his veins, like a claw had just reached inside him scraped away anything good and wonderful.

“Fuck!.... _Geralt_!” Jaskier choked, still clawing at Geralt’s chest in some desperate heart-breaking attempt to hold onto him, his terrified eyes staring at Geralt’s in a silent begging plea to help him as he choked on his own breath.

Suddenly Geralt had a flashback to a dream, a nightmare, one he’d had long ago, of his medallion shattering in two, and Jaskier…choking on his own blood…

“No…” Geralt whispered, cradling Jaskier in his arms, looking over him in an increasing distressing panic.

“One day…”

Geralt looked up, breathing heavily and shaking. Renfri was sitting on the floor with her back against the wall, her hand still on her throat, but so much blood pouring down her it stained all her clothes red. Her eyes were fixed on Geralt’s.

“…I hope…you die…in as much misery…as I am.”

Her hand then slowly slipped from her neck, falling to her side, her eyes no longer seeing the terrified golden ones before her. Geralt couldn’t spare a single thought for her, not with Jaskier bleeding out in his arms. One single logical thought finally made it through the haze in his mind. He had to move. There was a hospital not far from here, he could run, he could carry him there. 

“Ge…don’t…wanna…” Jaskier was trying to say, coughing up so much blood and desperately trying to gasp for air, all the pain and terror showing in his usually flirtatious eyes.

In a sudden rush of movement Geralt tore off his own shirt, using the arms to make it longer and tie the whole thing around Jaskier’s chest in a futile attempt at keeping in the blood. But there was no way it could be tight enough, and as he scooped Jaskier ups in his arms bridal style the blood just continued to seep out. But then what did it matter? If the blood didn’t come out it would only stay in, filling his lungs. He was either going to die of blood loss or drown in his own blood.

“Hold on Jaskier.” He said quickly, the sound of his own voice feeling almost foreign to him, like this wasn’t happening, like he was just watching from the corner of the room as this scene played out before him.

But as he turned towards the door he was forced to stop, for Yennefer was blocking the way, her gun pointed straight at him.

Geralt’s face betrayed his shock, “…Yen?”

“You’re taking him to hospital, aren’t you? You know you can’t do that; I won’t let you.” Her words were firm, authoritative, and she was standing her ground, “They’ll ask questions, you know they-“

“Yen!”

“-have to report injuries like this to the police and I am NOT having this chance of getting my life back ruined just because of _him_!”

“Yen!! _Move_!” Jaskier was still choking in his arms, tears falling from the corners of his eyes as blood poured from his mouth, “I won’t tell anyone where I was, I won’t tell them a thing of what’s happened here I swear now MOVE!” Yen didn’t move, “ _Please_!” Geralt’s voice cracked at that, and suddenly the fierce determination in Yennefer’s eyes wavered, just a bit.

Jaskier turned to her, “Pllleurr….seeee…”he gurgled, coughing up a huge amount of blood onto the carpet beneath them.

Her eyes darted between Geralt and Jaskier, her grip tightening and loosening and tightening again on her gun, and then with a growl that could rival one of Geralt’s she let out a cry of infuriation and stepped aside.

“ _Fine_ , go!”

Geralt didn’t hang around a second longer than needed, and with Jaskier in his arms he ran from the room, from the flat, down the balcony and onto the stairs. Moving over the bodies that littered the stairway was dangerous, but Jaskier’s hand that was gripping onto his shirt was pulling at it madly, and Geralt raced as quick as he could down them. When he finally got outside, passed Yennefer’s men who were rounding up or shooting down the remaining Nilfgaard’s that were trying to run, Geralt ran as fast as his injured body would let him, which knowing the precious person he held, was very fast indeed.

“Hold on.” Geralt said as he sprinted out a back alley into a street, a busy street. It was Saturday night and throwing out time from the clubs had already ended, and people meandered drunkenly down the pavements.

“MOVE!” Geralt screamed, and people yelled in shock and threw themselves against shop walls as Geralt went soaring past, his own blood dripping onto the slabs, but nowhere near as much as Jaskier’s. 

A red trail was being left behind them as he ran, and he could feel Jaskier’s hand slip from where it grasping uselessly at his chest. He risked a glance down, and Jaskier’s skin was starting to go blue, blood still gurgling from his mouth, his eyes beginning to roll.

“No, NO Jaskier don’t you _dare_ die don’t you fucking dare wait just please fucking wait!!”

He ran, he ran and he ran and he ran. His thigh was now gushing blood from the ruined stitches, his whole leg feeling like it was about to rip off his hip at every step. Normally Jaskier wouldn’t weigh a thing to carry like this, but the bleeding slashes on his arms and the few chunks ripped out from his muscles from nearly hit bullets made it feel like he was carrying eight of him, and it made his arms felt like they were going to rip off his shoulders too. But still he ran, ran through the crowds, through his own fear, run towards the tall building in the distance, screaming at people to move, hearing one voice of;

“Isn’t that Julian Pankratz?!”

The hospital was in sight, tears were starting to leak from Geralt’s eyes no matter the determined glare he kept in them, for even his own adrenaline couldn’t hold back anymore just how much pain he was in. And not just physically, every second he had Jaskier in his arms and not in that hospital it was more likely he wasn’t going to make this.

He was so focused on running into the hospital car park, the doors for A&E in sight, that he didn’t notice Jaskier’s arm fall from his body and hang loose at his side, his head lolling back.

“HELP ME! SOMEONE PLEASE HELP!” Geralt screamed as he raced through the doors, “HE’S BEEN SHOT IN THE CHEST HELP PLEASE!!!”

Immediately the nurse behind the desk called across to others and in barely a few moments a gurney was being rushed through followed by several doctors. They helped him place Jaskier quickly and carefully onto the stretcher, and it was only then that Geralt realised just how limp Jaskier’s body was, and when he looked to his face those eyes as blue as the summer sky they’d spent so much time under were staring past him.

Staring at nothing.

“Jaskier……?” Geralt breathed, his heart in his throat, his entire body seizing up, “no… _no_ …”

There was a voice of a nurse beside him, telling him to stay back, asking him exactly what had happened, asking what had happened to himself and they needed to get his injuries looked at. She was trying to hold onto his arm, but Geralt wasn’t with her, wasn’t listening or thinking of anything but watching more doctors come out of nowhere. As they rushed Jaskier away he could hear their medical technical talk run between them that he didn’t understand, but there were only a few words that he needed to understand.

 _No pulse_ , being two of them, as they ran the gurney through a set of swing doors ahead of them, leaving Geralt’s sight.

Without even thinking about who was holding him Geralt shoved the nurse violently away from himself, and ran towards those doors. 

“JASKIER!”

No, this wasn’t happening, Jaskier wouldn’t leave him like this he wouldn’t! Not after everything they’d been through, not after finally finding someone who loved him, his light in the dark, his noisy angel now silenced no _NO!_

Suddenly there was a pain so sharp in his back it almost felt like he’d been stabbed again, but it was a different kind of pain, a pain that made Geralt grit his teeth in agony as a shock of electricity ran through him, causing his body to shake brutally on the spot before he collapsed to the floor, struggling for air and on the verge of unconsciousness. It had been a taser, fired directly into his back where he’d been running towards the doors that were not for the public to walk through.

Had he been aware of what was going on around him he would have seen that when he shoved the nurse away she got a good look at the guns and knives attached to his belt. Everyone had been so focused on Jaskier when they’d come in no one had noticed the weapons. She’d screamed for security and ran back to her desk, pressing the panic button underneath. Thankfully ahead of them in another cubicle were two policemen, guarding a dangerous criminal who had been injured in a chase and were awaiting to take him away. They’d seen what was happening, had seen the shirtless and blood covered man with an array of weapons running towards the emergency surgery rooms, and in one shot had him down with a painful taser.

“I know you.” One commented as they approached, “Isn’t he the bodyguard to the Venderberg’s?”

“Jas…kier…”

Geralt looked up from where he lay on the floor, looked towards the closed doors ahead. Tears dripped down his blood dirty cheeks, his body broken, his heart broken, because this couldn’t be it, it would be too cruel, even for the life he’d led this would be the cruellest the world had treated him. If the world wanted him to suffer then let him suffer, let his body be twisted and mangled and his mind tormented and violated…but not with this, anything but this.

There was a distant sound of a heart monitor, a continuous, uninterrupted sound, of an equally broken heart.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you honestly think I've written well over 100,000 words only to have Jaskier die at the end I assure you, HE IS ALIVE, its just Geralt isn't going to know that for a while. Because I'm evil.  
> Next chapter will be the last.


	15. “I’m never letting you go.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Turns out this is NOT the last chapter like I said it would be. Wrote far more than planned (always do should have known it wouldn't be the last ^^;), so in fact the NEXT chapter will be the last.

Mrs Pankratz burst into tears when she saw the state of her son, hurrying to his side and taking his hand in her own. Her husband walked over more slowly, taking in the scene before him, before hugging her tightly and leaning over and placing a kiss to Jaskier’s forehead, the only part of his face not covered by breathing apparatus. A long tube went down his throat, breathing for him in place of his lungs as he recovered from the five-hour operation to save his life. Technically he’d been dead for over six minutes, but they hadn’t given up, pumping the blood out of his lungs and eventually getting his heart working again.

There was a doctor and several nurses nearby, still checking the equipment was in place correctly and explaining to Jaskier’s parents exactly what was happening. Jaskier would be kept in a three week medically induced coma to give his lungs the rest needed to recover. After that, and as unpleasant as it sounded, he’d need to be awake for them to remove the tube from his throat. They needed to be able to see him breathe awake and alert to ensure the surgery was successful. That is, of course, providing there was no brain damage from the lack of oxygen. That amount of time technically dead could bring forth more problems, and that brought Mrs Pankratz into a fresh round of tears, grasping Jaskier’s hand so tightly her knuckles turned white. However, providing all went well, he’d be remaining in hospital for a further two weeks on oxygen and for observation, and then he could go home.

“What…what happened?” Mrs Pantratz choked through her tears, “How did he get _shot_ of all things?!”

“I don’t know,” the doctor replied, “but the man who brought him in was arrested after being attended to himself.”

Mr Pankratz looked to the doctor suspiciously, “What man?”

“I’m afraid I don’t know, but I remember he had unusual white hair for a man of his age.”

The parents glanced to each other, and Mrs Pankratz sniffled and buried her head at her husband’s shoulder while he looked to Jaskier, shaking his head.

“What have you gotten yourself involved with?”

* * *

Geralt sat alone in the integration room. The heavy, solid metal table in front of him was bolted to the floor, and he was handcuffed to a chain coming up from a hoop in the middle of the table. There was a large two-way mirror to his right, and if he listened very, very carefully, he could hear many different voices the other side. They weren’t trying to be quiet, there was no need to be, after all the White Wolf had finally been caught, and it was causing quite the stir of gossip as to why he’d sacrificed his anonymity for an innocents life.

He was just as well known in the law-abiding world as he was in the non law-abiding one. Mainly because no matter the amount of crimes he was accused of having a connection to, there was never enough evidence to convict him, because Yennefer would work her magic with her lawyers and they all got away without even so much as an arrest. Not this time though. Yennefer would not get herself involved in this, she’d made that clear.

Not that he cared now.

The taser had pretty much knocked him out on top of his own blood loss and exhaustion, and he’d only been vaguely and deliriously aware of being in a hospital bed while some nurses tended to his wounds. In his blurred vision, which he final figured out was because of the morphine pumping into his veins from the drip beside him, he could see a constant guard of two well-armed policemen, watching him intently as the nurses cleaned his injuries and stitched him up properly. When it had been reported back exactly who had been caught in the hospital the station had sent over appropriately armed men, guns and body armour included. They had tried asking him questions as he lay there, but even through his morphine drugged mind Geralt knew not to answer them, and only answered their questions with one of his own.

“Is he really dead?” He could feel the hot tears in his eyes, unable to control it through the drug in his body, “Is he gone?”

He’d close his eyes and the tears would silently fall as they refused to answer, and any fight in him disappeared. The thought of Jaskier being dead was unbearable, unthinkable, it couldn’t be…it just couldn’t…

So now here he sat, chained and imprisoned, his crutches to one side, and he didn’t care. Still no one had told him if Jaskier had survived or not, and as you do in that kind of situation you think of the worst scenario, and Geralt was no different. He’d had two happy months in his life and now it had been ripped away. Jaskier, his sweet, innocent, chatty Jaskier, was dead.

And it was all Geralt’s fault.

He’d replayed the scene over and over and over and over again in his mind, torturing himself with it, seeing Renfri appearing there, seeing himself frozen in time, seeing the look in Jaskier’s eyes slowly melt from happiness to confused pain. Feeling his limp body and seeing his dead eyes as he placed him on the gurney, his arm hanging lifelessly off the side…fuck, _no_ …

His little lark…no…

Geralt closed his own eyes, trying to think of something else, anything else, but it was impossible. He was back to having three hours sleep again, and that was only barely, filled with devilish nightmares all of Jaskier dying in pain and fear and oh…Geralt wanted to scream. He wanted to scream and rip the world asunder. He wanted to scream and rip his own heart out, because it hurt so much and he didn’t know how to handle it. Of all the physical pain he’d suffered in his life, of all the stabbings and bullets and beatings, he’d go through all of it again, every single one of them, if it meant he could have Jaskier back. In fact someone, please, do that. Hurt him, hit him, stab him shoot him he didn’t fucking _care_ just make his body feel more pain so it would block out the ache in his chest that was worse than any of it. Make it so he couldn’t feel again. Make it so he couldn’t care again. Please…please… _please_ …

His fists clenched and unclenched where he sat chained, his teeth grit tightly shut, his breathing coming heavily through his nose, trying to hold back the scream and the tears. He wanted to destroy this room. Destroy all the people behind that mirror.

Destroy the world for stealing Jaskier away.

Suddenly the door to the room opened, and a woman entered, a woman Geralt knew all too well. It was the same detective that handled any case that came up with a Venderberg name attached to it. Anything that may have the opportunity of bringing the Venderberg’s down, or any of the crime families really, this woman was always there. It was her mission in life to one day get enough evidence to put them all away, and now it seemed, she may have enough for Geralt.

“Hello again Geralt.”

Her name was Tissaia, and Geralt always thought she had the stern formal look of an extremely strict head mistress, her dark hair tied back in a tight bun. Geralt looked up to her, but didn’t say anything, he was still trying to resist the impossible urge to rip the table from its bolts and throw it at the mirror. For days all he’d had was his own company, letting his mind fall deeper and deeper in depression.

Tissaia sat down across from him at the table, putting down a large pile of files she’d been carrying and then pressing a button on the side of the table. In the corner in the ceiling a light began to flash red, indicating visual and audio was now being recorded.

“Do you know what these are?” she asked, looking down at the files as she spread them out across the table, “Cold cases. Every single one of the had the same set of fingerprints, ones that were never matched to any database. Now you’ve always managed to hide behind Yennefer’s skirts whenever something went wrong, and she’d hide behind her lawyers, and as you know we’ve never managed to have any lawful reason to take your fingerprints. Until now. Storming into a hospital covered in other people’s blood and illegal weapons and carrying someone who’d been shot gives us a very good reason to take those prints. Now that we have, take a guess at what we found?”

Geralt said nothing, he would give her nothing.

“Positive matches. To every. Single. One. Of these files.”

She pushed some towards him on every word, dates going back all of his life and…Geralt looked to one date in particular, he couldn’t help being drawn to that one. He thought he’d feel dread and fear at that one, especially now knowing they knew, thought he’d care but…he felt nothing. He was dead inside, there was just nothing left to care about if Jaskier was gone.

“We knew you were called the Butcher of Blaviken, but that was just a rumour, a nickname, hardly enough to convict anyone. We knew someone slaughtered their way through that little gang years ago, probably you, and now we finally do have you. Your prints match the ones taken from weapons and general living areas from that squalid little hole when it was investigated, and now there’s enough murders here to put you away in the darkest corner of prison for the rest of your life. I’d also bet my entire career that you know exactly who set those bombs at the Cintra estate, something is going on in the underworld of London and I intend to find out what.”

So, the News was a cover up, the police did know about the bombs. But still, Geralt said nothing. Though he noticed none of the cases here were Renfri’s family. He’d left no evidence at all on that one, taking the murder weapon with him. It would forever be a mystery to the law.

“Now is there anything you’d like to say before we officially start this interrogation? I feel it’s going to be a long one.”

Geralt just stared back at her, before asking the same question he’d asked while at the hospital, the same question he’d asked while being brought there, the same question he’d asked while he waited for days for them to collect all this evidence.

“Is he dead?”

“Excuse me?”

“Julian, the man I brought into the hospital…is he dead, or did they save him?”

Tissaia looked at him carefully, before leaning back in her chair and crossing her arms, “Ah yes, I’ve seen photos of you two on the internet. Tell me did he know who he was getting involved with? Had you dragged him into your dark little world by force? Or had his fame gone to his head and he was a willing participant in the sleazy illegal end of the celebrity scale?”

Geralt could feel his lips raising in a silent snarl. How _dare_ she accuse Jaskier of being like that!

“I tell you what,” she continued, “why don’t you tell me what happened? How you got all these injuries, how Mr Pankratz was shot and why he had handcuffs hanging from his wrists, and I’ll tell you if he is alive.”

Geralt grit his teeth and let out a short growl with his snarl, before looking back down to the table. He wasn’t telling her anything, not a word, not a suggestion or admission, nothing. If Jaskier was alive, he wasn’t going to besmirch his reputation by having him involved publicly with a convicted criminal, and besides, he’d promised Yennefer he wouldn’t get her involved. She, somehow, had a chance to regain everything she’d lost, though how she knew they’d been at Cahir’s in the first place he still didn’t know. He was also trying to ignore the thought that if she hadn’t stalled them leaving Jaskier may well have had a better chance at being alive.

And if Jaskier _was_ dead?

If he was, Geralt had nothing to live for, and he’d remain silent for the rest of his miserable life. He wouldn’t care what happened to him, he wouldn’t care what they did. If they wanted to dump him in a dark hole and throw away the key, fine. Let him rot there for what he’d caused. Let him descend into chaos.

A world without Jaskier in it wasn’t a world worth knowing.

Tissaia sighed at Geralt’s silent uncooperativeness, “We have enough evidence to detain you indefinitely, so this will take as long as you make it, but I will get answers out of you.”

She then stated the time and her full name and rank for the audio recording, picked up the first file, and began to talk through it.

* * *

“Okay, this won’t hurt but it will feel incredibly uncomfortable. Don’t panic as it come up, it’ll be over quickly, then as soon as it’s out I need you to cough as hard as you can and take in some deep breaths, okay?”

Jaskier nodded to the doctor, sitting up in the hospital bed and holding his mother’s hand tightly.

They’d brought him round from the coma this morning, and he’d been confused and terrified and couldn’t remember at first what had happened and fucking hell there was a _huge_ _tube down his throat_! He couldn’t speak he couldn’t breathe well he could breathe but it didn’t feel right it felt weird and oh fuck help!

His parents were still there, and his mum had held his flailing arms to try and get him to calm down, making soothing noises and stroking his hair, smiling through her tears that there didn’t seem to be any immediate signs of brain damage as he was alert and looking around. It took a few moments to remember what had happened as he calmed down, but as soon as he did Jaskier waved his hands in front of himself again, shaking his head in a panic, motioning for a pen and paper as he couldn’t speak. His father took out a small pad he always kept with him, and Jaskier wrote one word on it:

_**Geralt?** _

His parents had looked to each other despondently, “He was arrested Julian,” said his father, “he’s not here.”

The look in Jaskier’s eyes had been heartbreakingly sad, it was obvious to all of them how much he wanted to see him, but there was nothing that could be done, and Jaskier could do nothing but sit there listening to the doctor explaining what had happened about the surgery. He was only half listening, for the other half was stressing about the machine breathing for him feeling extremely weird and unnerving, and of course worrying about Geralt. He’d lost a lot of blood too, and Jaskier didn’t like waking up to find him not here. His chest ached like…well, like he’d been shot, and as he was pumped so full of god knows what it was difficult to concentrate.

He did remember being shot now, he remembered the look in Geralt’s eyes when he realised what had happened. He remembered feeling so scared, clutching onto Geralt as he was swept up in his arms. He remembered Yennefer trying to stop them, and for a moment a darkness came over his eyes. What the fuck was she doing? She runs in to save them and then tries to stop them going to the hospital?! He didn’t remember much after that. He had the vague awareness of people around them in the street, the stars in the sky above him, and the secure feeling of strong arms keeping him close as he slowly lost consciousness. Then nothing but black. Nothing until this morning, when he’d blearily opened his eyes and was told he’d been in a coma for the past three weeks.

Now though, after they’d let him rest and regain his awareness, came the awful moment of removing the tube. It was done as swiftly as the doctor had said, though it was one of the most unpleasantly uncomfortable things Jaskier had ever experienced. As soon as it was clear Jaskier let out a hacking cough, the doctor holding onto his shoulders as he took in his first breath of air without the machine, a shuddering, strangled sound as his lungs expanded on their own.

“Again, keep going.”

Jaskier took in each shuddering breath slowly, feeling the air inflate inside him, and after taking in enough breaths to be satisfied the doctor placed a set of small oxygen tubes into Jaskier’s nose to keep a fresh supply going. He then let him rest back against the raised bed, his chest heaving but getting more and more stable.

“Good,” the doctor was smiling brightly, “very good.”

He then passed him a plastic cup with water in it, along with a straw, and Jaskier took some grateful sips of it, feeling the cool water go down his parched, dry and raw throat. God that felt good. As he drank the doctor touched and listened around his chest, ensuring the breathing sounded normal.

Satisfied, the doctor then began to explain that the damage to his left lung was severe, and the entry and exit wounds were repaired but the healing process would leave them scarred and unable to work as they should. Those parts of his left lung would never absorb oxygen again, and Jaskier would forever feel ever so slightly out of breath. He would find his resting breathing rate would eventually even out as something a little faster to get the needed oxygen, and that it would take some getting used to, but eventually it would become normal for him. Even sitting here now already it felt strange, like he’d just run down the corridor and back.

“How do you feel sweetheart?” said his mother, and Jaskier gave the cup back to the doctor.

He opened his mouth to talk, but not a word came out, just a raspy, grating sound, and he looked horrified towards the doctor, who just smiled at him calmly.

“Don’t try to talk, you’ve had a tube down your throat don’t forget, that too will need to heal before you attempt talking. Don’t worry, you will get your voice back in a few days.”

In his head Jaskier swore, because as happy… _extremely_ happy and relieved as he was to know he would get his voice back, he wanted it now. He wanted to ask about Geralt. He wanted someone to find out for him where he was, if he was okay, and that if he really was arrested Jaskier would do everything he could to get him out. This is why Geralt never wanted to go to a hospital, hospitals ask questions just like he said, and that would, and has, led to an arrest. Jaskier didn’t know what he could do to get him out, but he’d try, anything, he wasn’t losing him now. 

His puppy shouldn’t be in a cage.

* * *

Geralt was tired. So very, very tired. His eyes were bloodshot from barely any sleep, and he’d sat in this same chair, handcuffed to this same table, for over three weeks. Every day Tissaia asked him questions about the cold cases and again what had happened that night at the hospital, and every day he had refused. Not said a word. Except for his one question that never got an answer. Seems they were both being as stubborn as each other.

“Your silence will not buy you your freedom Geralt,” Tissaia had tried to get him to see reason one day, “we can convict you on the fingerprints and blood matches alone, don’t you want to say anything in your defence?”

Geralt continued to stare at the table, the same grey surface he’d been staring at for weeks. It had hit him, really hit him, a few nights ago, that Jaskier was dead. He must be, he had already been dead after all, and it made Geralt feel like he was just a body, breathing, but there was nothing else there. His mind, heart, the soul Jaskier had given him, it was all gone. He’d been holding back his screams and his tears since he got here but even he couldn’t hold them any longer. He’d cried so hard into the stale, hard pillow on his tiny thin bed that the guards outside had thought something was seriously wrong. Geralt had screamed at them to fuck off when he heard the keys in the lock, he was fine, just let him punch the walls till his knuckles were bloody, just let him wallow in his own broken misery at failing the only person who had ever loved him. Just let him die, die and be tortured in hell by all the people he’d killed.

He deserved it.

Now with all that finally let out, he was just a shell, a shell with bandages around his knuckles from the damage he’d caused to them.

“Is he dead?” he whispered, and Tissaia threw the file she was holding onto the table in anger and stood up.

It was all he ever said.

“Since you refuse to even say if you have a lawyer the courts will appoint one for you. I don’t know why you’re not calling on Yennefer to save you, I don’t know what’s going on out there as you won’t tell me, but you will go to jail for the rest of your life I can promise you that.”

She turned towards the door to leave, but at the last moment looked back to him. She observed him, the red eyes, the miserable expression, and her voice suddenly became softer, “You really love him, don’t you?” As usual, Geralt remained silent, “Even if I did tell you if he was alive, would you tell me anything about what happened that night? Who shot him? Who attacked you?”

Geralt looked to her, those miserable eyes showing not a care to anything anymore, and slowly shook his head. Tissaia just stared back at him, then glanced away as though in thought. As she opened the door to leave she turned back to him and simply said;

“He’s alive. He’s awake and recovering in hospital.”

She left immediately, leaving Geralt alone again. As the door fell shut behind her, the room remained in silence, though only for a moment. Then, slowly, Geralt’s trembling hands grasped his own head, leaning forward so his elbows rested on the table. His breathing came in shaking gasps as the happiest tears began to drop heavily down his cheeks, splashing onto the cold surface.

He didn’t care who was watching, who was listening, Jaskier was alive, and suddenly each and every depressing dark thought Geralt had been having left him as fast as the tears were falling. He tried to hide his grin, but it was impossible, for nothing in the world had ever made him smile more, and he started to laugh. Quivering, emotion-filled laughter took him, and he couldn’t stop it. Anyone watching through the 2-way mirror must have thought him mad, but Geralt couldn’t have cared less about them. He ran his hands over his face, not attempting to wipe away the tears, let them fall, for they were wild proof on just how much he loved Jaskier. He was alive. He was out there, breathing and _alive_!

The grin remained as he crossed his arms against the table and buried his head in his arms, his shoulders still shaking, his heart and soul crashing back to him in a swoop of liberation and love. Jaskier was alive, his little lark was okay, and Geralt had never felt so light and relieved and mentally exhausted in his entire life.

“I love you.” He laughed through the tears, for the wolf had his lark back.

* * *

Jaskier didn’t know what woke him. There hadn’t been a noise that he’d been aware of, but suddenly his eyes were open, and a fear crept into his chest at seeing the outline of a figure in the dark room standing by the wall, watching him.

“Who…” he rasped out, his heart racing madly. It had been two days and he could say the odd word to communicate now, but any actual sentences still hurt his throat a lot.

The figure stepped forward closer, walking slowly to his beside and taking the seat beside him. In the tiny amount of light coming from under the door and the various blinking lights on the machines that still surrounded him, Jaskier could just make out the long dark hair and figure of a woman he really didn’t want to see. Her face came into view better as he got used to the dark, and they stared at each other.

“Are you…gonna…kill me?” Jaskier rasped out, swallowing hard both in fear and to try and lubricate his sore throat.

Even in the dark he could see Yennefer smile.

“No, I’m not here to kill you.” She said, an amused tone to her voice.

Jaskier then looked around his room, “How’re…you…here?”

God it hurt to say more than one word, but it was the middle of the night no one would have allowed her in how the hell did she get here?

“The staff don’t know I’m here.”

Jaskier rested his head back on his pillow, “…oh.”

Oh yes, because _of course_ she would somehow be able to sneak into a hospital with not a single person noticing her. He swore these sorts of people lived in entirely different worlds to the rest of humanity.

“I know you can’t talk well, which makes a nice change,” she smirked, “so just listen. I need to tell you something that…” she paused, and Jaskier just blinked at her, waiting, “…that I can’t tell Geralt in person, so I’m leaving that job to you. The reason I knew the two of you were at Cahir’s…is because I let him kidnap you.”

Jaskier eye’s widened, “Wha-“ he began to say, but Yennefer raised her hand to silence him.

“Just let me tell you what happened, okay? I need to tell you all this.”

Jaskier glared at her, but cautiously nodded, and listened. 

She began to explain that it wasn’t a lie that she’d lost everything, but other families had had better luck, and a few more had escaped the fires and shootings at their homes. After sending round a few contacts they all managed to rally together in one place, but these were petty lower family members and workers, and they all wanted everyone else to listen to what they had to say. They all wanted to be on top and Yennefer, being the only actual head of a family to survive, had tried to make some sense of leadership to fall into place, but it was impossible. No one trusted each other, no one wanted to become a Venderberg or any other name. They were all bickering children. So she left, used some older contacts, got a place to go and a name to change, stuck it all on a hard-drive and headed to the penthouse.

However, it turned out one of the “survivors” had been one of Cahir’s agents, someone who happened to see her making the hard-drive. He didn’t really care about the small leftovers bickering amongst themselves, but he knew Yennefer would be trouble, would come back one day, take her revenge, so he’d followed her. Followed her to the penthouse, knowing there was only one person she’d trust enough to leave the drive with, her bodyguard. That was how Geralt’s home had been revealed. Then just after they arrived at the airport he’d kidnapped her and Ciri, who’d been waiting in the taxi outside the penthouse, and took them back to his place. 

Long story short they escaped, but not before the idiot had told Yennefer that he’d informed Cahir of who she’d given the hard-drive to, just on the off-chance she should try to escape. He was going to try and get it out of her verbally first, he wanted to know the contacts she’d used to get all this organised, because whoever they were Cahir would want them dead that they’d helped her.

Well that didn’t work, and he’d found himself shot with his own gun after Ciri slipped out of her bonds and tackled him. The man was so surprised that a little girl was trying to attack him that he didn’t even register she’d taken his gun from his holster until she shot him in the leg with it. While he was squirming on the ground Ciri had untied Yennefer, who then finished him off with a shot to the head.

Jaskier could only widen his eyes at hearing this part. That sweet little girl, that little fan who held his hand and loved horses and beamed the biggest grins at him and had posters of him all over her bedroom wall… _fucking hell_!

Well, she was the granddaughter of a mob boss he supposed, what did he except?

“This next bit is the part that you’re not going to like.” Yennefer said quietly, “This is the part that I can’t tell Geralt…because he will hate me for it.” She said quietly, sounding genuinely sad at the idea.

Jaskier raised an eyebrow, “Go on.” He rasped.

So she continued. Because Cahir now knew where the hard-drive was she was going to use it to her advantage, and she formulated a plan. Leaving Ciri in a hotel room to keep her safe Yennefer went back to the bickering children, informing them what had happened, laying it on thick that Cahir would come after all of them, making them scared. She took their fear and used it, making them believe that if they worked together under her leadership, they could take Cahir down once and for all. _Be_ her new family, _join_ her, take down Cahir under her guidance and take his place, take the kingdom he’d made by destroying all their families.

They’d agreed.

First, she staked out the penthouse, because Cahir’s men would arrive to take the drive and she had no intention of interrupting them. _Yet_. She’d watched as the black van pulled up and men in black clothes piled out into the building, breaking through and silencing alarms. Whatever happened up there she knew Geralt would be okay, because it was Geralt after all.

Jaskier narrowed his eye at this. As good as Geralt was he was still only human, he wasn’t invincible, and she was happy to just play around with his life like that? Hell with Jaskier’s life too! She really had no regard for others lives at all.

She’d been hoping the men would come out with the drive, and that’s when Yennefer and her men in hiding with her would attack. They’d bring the dead bodies of the men back to Cahir’s estate, waving the little drive in his face, and then declare war once more. She and her new followers would attack, and there’d be a lot of death and blood on both sides but by fuck Yennefer was going to shoot that moron through the head and take back everything he’d stolen, and more. 

She’d be the only boss left, she’d rule it all, just like Cahir had wanted to do.

What happened though, was something even better. Seeing Jaskier manhandled out the building and into the van, oh yes, OH yes this was even better. She wouldn’t even have to risk her own new family, because Geralt…Geralt would kill all of Cahir’s men for her. With Jaskier taken she knew Geralt would be on the war path, and low and behold, just over an hour later Geralt came storming out the building, armed to the teeth, heading over to his own rarely used car kept in the underground parking beneath the building. He wouldn’t be able to get away with using the tube when he was covered in weapons.

At this point, Jaskier wished he felt far stronger than the pathetic weakling his surgery currently made him feel, because although he had never and would never hit a woman, he wanted to punch Yennefer’s _fucking lights out!!_

“You let,” he croaked out, his eyes showing the fury his voice couldn’t articulate, “Geralt…fight…alone…you were…there…the whole ti-“ he swallowed hard, his voice lost, he couldn’t finish the words anymore his throat was on fire, but he clenched his fists around the bed sheets, glaring at her so fiercely.

She let him be kidnapped, she let Geralt fight through them all by himself just so she didn’t have to risk her new men. She’d used them! Both of them! She fucking risked both their lives for her own selfishness oh Jaskier wanted to scream at her! Wanted to strangle her!! How could she do that?! He thought she cared about Geralt! He’d spent such a long time convincing Geralt that she loved him in her own way, that she wouldn’t put him in deliberate danger, hence why he’d suggested he bring up his contract to get her to stop telling him to kill people. And she’d agreed to that! So why this? Why now?! She was so confusing! One minute she was supportive and caring towards Geralt and the next she was sending him to kill more people in one night then he probably had in his entire life!

She was poisonous, she was dangerous, and she needed to be out of their lives for good!

He tried to lean up in the bed, tried to make himself look as angry as possible, “Go…away…” His voice was scratchy and rough and it hurt like hell but no, he’d had enough.

Unfortunately, Yennefer hadn’t, “No, not yet. You still need to listen.”

Jaskier fell back to the bed in utter fury, he couldn’t move, his chest hurt if he tried, everything fucking hurt, he had no energy he couldn’t do anything but lay here as this…this _witch_ tried to explain her disgusting actions away. He’d had enough of her, she needed to _FUCK OFF!_

“I can imagine you’re hating me right now,” she continued, and Jaskier let out a snort of obviousness, “but I’m not leaving just yet. I know…what I did was…” she let out a long sigh, “there’s something you have to understand about me. Although I abhor what Cahir did, I don’t actually blame him for trying. I want power, just like he did, and although I would not have gone about it the same way he has provided me with an opportunity. One I have taken. Now you don’t need to know what I’ve been doing this past month but what you should know…is that I’m going to help Geralt.”

Jaskier was still glaring at her, but his glare turned more to a curious one, “Help…?”

Yennefer just smiled, a smile that said there was far more going on underneath the surface than she was revealing.

“I’m going to turn myself in.”

* * *

It had been days where Geralt had been locked in his cell, but for the first time in weeks he was practically pleasant. His court appointed lawyer had come to visit every day and gone over every single thing Tissaia had accused him off again, saying they need to plan his defence, but just like with the detective Geralt remained quiet. He may be extatically happy that Jaskier was alive, that he hadn’t failed him after all, but that didn’t mean he was now going to be cooperative. Besides, there was no defence. He was guilty of all of it. If they wanted to put him away then so be it, he wouldn’t drag Jaskier down with him. He may be alone, but he’d be living with the knowledge that Jaskier was out there, somewhere, and that he’d had the best two months of his life with him.

If it came down to it, that would have to be enough.

He just hoped Jaskier would forgive him for being sent away. He didn’t want to envision his life without him, but having thought him dead for so many weeks he almost welcomed being sent to prison. At least Jaskier would finally be safe. And yes, he could hear Jaskier’s voice in his head already, saying he’d fight them, saying he’d get him out, but it was useless.

There was nothing that could come in and erase his past for him.

With an uncooperative client there wasn’t much the lawyer could do, so the court date was set, and it was now that Geralt was waiting for the officers to handcuff him and bundle him into the back of a police car to be driven to court. It would be the quickest proceeding in history with a silent suspect.

He no longer needed his crutches, his injuries had healed quickly as they always did, so when the officers unlocked his cell he stood obediently, his hands held out in front of him waiting for his restraints. Tissaia joined them as he walked flanked by the two officers, her expression unreadable as always as she marched him towards the front doors. But as they approached them, a familiar sound of high heels suddenly burst through the doors, and Yennefer walked in like she owned the place.

“Yen?!” Geralt exclaimed in utter surprise, and she threw him a quick smile before walking up to Tissaia, whose unreadable face was now definitely readable, and it was just plain shock!

“Tissaia, so lovely to see you again, this is your lucky day.” She then held out her wrists, “I’m giving myself up.”

Most of the foyer was stone quiet as everyone stared at the Head of the Venderberg’s waltzing into their station and…handing herself in? Tissaia did nothing but stare at her for moment, as did Geralt, both of them trying to process what they were seeing! Yennefer just stood there with a calm smile on her face, until the detective finally clicked into motion and had her in handcuffs in seconds, turning Yennefer around to put them on behind her back.

“Take him.” Tissaia nodded towards the officers and Geralt, who carried on towards the door to take him to court.

But Geralt just continued to stare in utter shock at Yennefer as he was marched past, head turning to keep her in his vision. What the fucking hell was she doing?!!

“Oh no you’re not going to want to do that,” Yennefer called out to them, the officers stopping and Geralt turning back to her, “you see my surrender comes with conditions and Geralt is part of it.”

“You’re already in handcuffs,” Tissaia pointed out, rather delightfully for her, “you’re in no position to make conditions.”

Yennefer just smiled slyly, “True, but the problem is I won’t tell you a single thing unless my _one_ condition is met.” She said straight to her face, her voice still light and airy as if not taking this seriously at all.

As if she had the upper hand despite being in handcuffs.

Tissaia raised a suspicious eyebrow at her, “And what’s that?”

Yennefer turned to Geralt with a knowing smile, “Geralt goes free.”

Geralt’s heart skipped a hopeful beat, but almost immediately calmed himself because that was ridiculous and impossible, and to prove his point Tissaia let out a small bark of a laugh.

“You know very well I can’t do that.”

“Well then find someone who can, because I will give you everything, Tissaia, _everything_.” She told her, tantalisingly teasing, Tissaia’s hand gripping her upper arm tightly, “Every contact, every hideout, every connection and trade route and back alley little transaction. And not just from my family, but all the ones I know about all the others. You could single-handedly bring down the entire organised crime world in London in one night.” She leant in closer, a superior smirk joining her whisper, “Now wouldn’t you like to be the detective who accomplished all that?”

* * *

A few days later and Jaskier’s voice was now _almost_ normal, except for still sounding like he was talking through a cheese grater, but at least it didn’t hurt much anymore. He could form full sentences and talk for a while before it began to hurt again, and now that other guests were allowed to visit aside from next of kin his agent had popped in. She was in tears when she’d been told by his parents that he’d been shot, and was now so apologetic for all the stress she’d put him through it made Jaskier start crying too, and they were both blubbering messes in each other’s arms.

Jaskier had to be careful what he told her though, so for now just kept to the unavoidable fact that he’d been shot. He said he couldn’t really go into more details just yet, but he’d let her know when he was able to say more. She asked what she should tell his fans. It had been a month now and all she’d declared officially was that he’d been severely injured and was in in hospital recovering from surgery. She’d been a barrier between him and press, for it had been all over the news, and it was all so secretive no one knew what had happened.

“Just tell them…”Jaskier thought for a moment, “tell them that I’m awake and on the mend, and it won’t be long before I’m back singing again.”

Jaskier had been advised by her not to post anything online to his fans until he could say exactly what happened, for they would only bombard him with questions. Jaskier saw the literally thousands of twitter messages he’d received on her mobile when she showed him, and knew he couldn’t reply to any of them, not until he’d seen Geralt, not until he knew they were on the same page with the same story. This was going to be one heck of a cover up.

“About that…” his agent had trailed off tentatively, “will you be able to sing? I mean from what I know they say you won’t be able to take as deep a breaths as before. Are you going to be able to hold the longer notes?”

Jaskier’s face dropped a little, and looked down to his bed covers, “They tell me no. But only like the really long notes. I’ll still be able to sing fine I just might have to cut a few of the ballad notes short…why? You’re not thinking of dropping me are you?” he asked cautiously, peering up at her from under his eyelashes.

He’d already felt miserable enough after being told that by his doctor, that his lung capacity was diminished so he literally wouldn’t have the breath for some notes, and the last thing he needed now was to lose his contract. Singing was his life, he honestly didn’t know what he’d do if he couldn’t sing any more.

Thankfully, his agent looked at him sternly, “No. Absolutely not Julian. So long as you can still sing we can help you with any longer notes on the soundboard, it’ll be fine. You’re my star, after all. I tell you what though, being shot has really sent your popularity through the roof, you’ve been in all the news, and your album has skyrocketed.” She informed him with a nervous smile, and Jaskier just grinned at her. 

Well that was one way to advertise who he was, singer of number 1 album shot, oh he could picture the headlines.

After she’d left, the police had also finally been allowed in to see Jaskier. But for once in his life Jaskier was staying absolutely silent. He didn’t know what Geralt had told them, he didn’t want to contradict anything or get him into any worse trouble, so whatever the police asked him, his answer was simple.

“Don’t remember.”

The two policemen both looked highly doubtful, “You don’t remember where you were?”

“Nope.”

“You don’t remember why you were in handcuffs? Who shot you?”

“Nope.”

“Do you remember how you got to wherever you were? How many people there were?”

“Nope.”

The police weren’t buying it for a second, but they couldn’t really do anything else, so had _thanked him_ for his _cooperation_ , and had left. He was sure they’d return again, but with any luck Yennefer would have put her plan into action by now, and any moment Geralt would be coming in through that door.

God he missed him so much. Geralt had saved his life, had got him here just in time. He wanted to hold him and kiss him and snuggle into those huge arms and never let him go. He hated to think what he was going through cooped up in jail, but for once, and despite everything Yennefer had told him about what she’d done, he was placing his trust in her that she would do as she said. Geralt would be free, he’d be here with him soon, and then he’d never let him go. He’d glue himself to him, seriously, cover himself in glue and stick himself to Geralt that was the only way of ensuring people would stop taking them apart. He wanted him, wanted to tell him how head over heals in love with him he was, wanted to brush that ridiculously beautiful white hair out of his eyes and tell him he was loved and cared for and _Jaskier’s_.

Entirely Jaskier’s.

He knew Geralt would be berating himself for what happened, even though none of it was his fault he knew Geralt and he knew he’d be hating himself for nothing right now. He hated to think how worried he was and hoped they were keeping him up-to-date with his progress. He could just imagine his face when they would have told him he’d survived, and Jaskier grinned to himself at how happy that face must have been.

He’d wait for him to appear, and then when Jaskier was discharged they’d go back to the penthouse together and start a new life.

Just as Yennefer had promised him.

* * *

Geralt sat across from Yennefer at the usual table in the interrogation room, but this time it was her handcuffed and chained to the loop in the middle of the table. Geralt was not. They had removed his handcuffs at the end of the meeting, with a reluctant, “You’re free to go.” from Tissaia. Throughout the whole meeting he’d sat there, staring at Yennefer, not believing what was happening. They were alone now, but it had been a very busy week, and at the final conclusion of the arrangement Yennefer had asked to speak to Geralt alone. To say goodbye.

It had taken a week to organise the exact deal and wording for this arrangement. There had been so many documents being signed and passed between Yennefer, Tissaia, three lawyers and a few other much higher-ranking officers who he didn’t know. He’d sat there, watching it all take place, and still finding it hard to believe they were allowing this. Was Yennefer actually signing away her life on the condition Geralt goes free? And the police were going along with it? Sure, Yennefer would be the biggest catch of all their careers, but this was a very dodgy transaction for the fucking _police_ , giving up a man who had a very long criminal record for the sake of capturing Yennefer instead. Just went to prove how the law could be bent to suit certain needs.

Plus, there had to be more to it than what it seemed, this was Yennefer after all, and after making such a fuss of delaying Geralt getting Jaskier to the hospital on fear of ruining her, now she was just suddenly handing herself in? No, he didn’t buy it for a second, he knew Yennefer far too well.

She was up to something.

Yennefer’s more detailed condition was that Geralt wasn’t only free, but also entirely cleared of all charges. Any and all records were wiped entirely clean, and there was to be no link nor trace of him being connected to herself or any other possible crime. He was to be given a fake credentials and references to be able to get any job he wanted, and really the basis of it was what they did for witness protection, only a lot more hiding of a dark past. The lawyers were here more at Yennefer’s request, to ensure the police couldn’t waggle a few fine prints in, she wanted Geralt protected at all costs from the law, otherwise she would give them nothing.

The official story of what happed to Jaskier would be that he was kidnapped by an obsessed fan, and being his partner and already a bodyguard Geralt had come to his rescue. However, the rescue hadn’t quite gone to plan. Turned out there was more than one obsessed fan, things got out of control, both Geralt and Jaskier were injured, Jaskier obviously a lot more, but Geralt managed to get him out and safe. This would make him a hero in the minds of all his other non-crazy fans and famous in the eyes of any potential employers. Also, to avoid questions, the kidnappers have already been privately convicted out of the news, and that was that.

Tissaia had of course taken the opportunity to ask her what had _actually_ happened, getting nothing out of Geralt for a month had driven her slightly crazy with frustration, but just like Geralt she had remained silent. She’d assured her she would tell her eventually, as part of the deal, but there had been a glint in her eyes that told Geralt she had no intention of doing that at all.

What was she really doing here?

To do all this however she had to give them _something_ before they started, to prove her information was true, so she’d told them three things. One was the name of a man dealing in black-market organs, another the location of black-market weapons, and the other an underground warehouse of cannabis. Geralt hadn’t said anything but narrowed his eye a little. He knew those locations and who they belonged to, and they were all ones that used to belong to her, but had defected to another family. Of course they all ended up belonging to Cahir for a while, but still, it was typically Yennefer. The woman could hold a grudge for the eternity of time.

After the locations and the man selling organs had been confirmed, and arrested, Yennefer’s one condition was discussed at length and the appropriate people and lawyers were brought in. This was a very secret, under the table proposition, but it still had to be legal, and Yennefer was ensuring every single word meant Geralt would never be harassed by the law again. By the end, the lawyers were nodding, the officers were nodding, and the final signatures were taken.

It was done.

Geralt was free.

Free? Geralt wasn’t even sure he knew the meaning of the word, it was foreign to him, a word not in his dictionary. To be free from it all, to have his own life, it wasn’t even something imaginable to him before, and still couldn’t really wrap his head around it now even as the others stood up, shaking hands, and gradually one by one leaving the room. When they’d taken the handcuffs off him he’d looked at them as though this was a joke.

But now here he sat with Yennefer, her final wish to speak to him. She had slyly told Tissaia first though as she pointed to the off red light in the corner not to listen in, she was legally allowed a private goodbye with loved ones. 

Tissaia had grit her teeth, but nodded, “Five minutes.” She had her now, so she could wave a private goodbye, her and Geralt had after all been lovers before, it was known.

They’d not had a chance to speak privately at all since Yennefer paraded into the police station, and now after what she’d done for him, Geralt was…speechless.

“Yen, what you’ve just done…”

Yennefer just shrugged, “Well, I thought it was about time I did something nice for you.”

Geralt just raised an eyebrow at her, “Yen.” He said flatly.

Her nonchalant expression gave a hint of a smirk, “Don’t worry about me Geralt, I have everything under control.”

“By sending yourself to jail?”

Her smirk just grew wider, “I don’t plan on being here for very long, just long enough to get them off your back.”

Geralt shook his head and sighed. It looked so odd, so wrong, to see her sitting there in handcuffs, and for him as well. He couldn’t fathom what her plan was, because there had to be one, but for once he had no interest in finding out what it was. For whatever reason she had just set him free, not just from jail, but from the underworld entirely. He could get a real job, he could have a real life, he could…be with Jaskier, without fear or worry. Cahir was gone, hell everyone who may have it in for Geralt was dead. He was safe, which meant Jaskier was safe.

Although it wouldn’t take long for new gangs and families to take the place of those that had been killed, there was such a huge bleeding gash where the underworld had been it would take a while for organised crime to re-organise itself. Especially without Yennefer. London was going to go through a quiet patch for a short time.

“We’ve said goodbye once before,” Yennefer said, a small, rather sweet smile to her lips, “so I’m not going to go through all that again, but what I will say…is that I’m sorry.”

Geralt blinked at her, “For what?”

“Hm, for how I knew you were at Cahir’s…it’s something that Julian will tell you, but hopefully what I’ve done here toda-.”

“You’ve spoken to him? How is he is he alright?” Geralt blurted out in the middle of her speaking, leaning forward in her chair suddenly all bright eyed and bushy tailed, and she just rolled her eyes.

“He sounds like a razor blade has crawled down his throat and set up home, but otherwise he’s recovering fine from what I could tell.”

Geralt relaxed again, a small far off smile on his face. Yennefer just shook her head affectionately, he was so far gone.

“Like I was saying, hopefully what I’ve done today will make up for it. I just wanted you to know I’m sorry. So go out there and have your life Geralt, I know you’ve wanted out for years, so I’ve given that chance to you. Don’t ruin it. And maybe, one day…we’ll see each other again after all.”

There it was. A spark in her eye. Something told Geralt he would be seeing her again, and not because of prison visiting hours.

“Yen whatever you’re doing, just…be careful.”

“Always.” She smirked at him.

He smiled back at her. A true, knowing smile, a fond one that only years of going through the strangest times together could make. He was fairly sure this was the first time they’d truly felt…as friends.

Though Geralt did have one, small question, and the thought of it made his smile disappear.

“What happened to Renfri’s body?”

“Who?”

“Cahir’s bodyguard, the one who shot Jaskier.”

“Oh her…just disposed, with all the others.”

Disposed. That could mean anything. Buried, dumped, set on fire, he never did know what Yennefer did with the dead bodies that came across her in her life. He was hardly expecting a full on funeral, but the thought of Renfri just left somewhere to rot, even though she’d shot Jaskier, it just made him feel…sad. She’d been desperate, depressed beyond all measure, turned to a life of crime and revenge all because of Geralt. She should have been buried properly, with her family, not left alone like she’d been her whole life.

She was the one thing he could never atone for, the one person he could never guard, never save. She would forever be a guilty gnaw at the back of his brain, and it was something he was going to have to learn to live with for the rest of his life. He’d saved her as a child, a choice that had thrown his world into turmoil and made him the man he was today. But in saving her, he had destroyed her, unknowingly giving her his own retched life.

He wanted to thank Yennefer for being the one to take her down, for not making him have to complete his first set. He wouldn’t though, Yennefer didn’t know about Renfri, didn’t understand what she meant to him. But still, thank you.

_Thank you._

“I can never repay what you’ve done for me.” He said gently, and in more ways than she would ever know.

“No repayment required.” she said back at him, her face calm and honest, just as the guards knocked and immediately came back in, her five minutes up. 

As they unlocked her from the loop on the table, her hands still cuffed in front of her, Geralt stood and walked to her side, wanting to at least be there for her as they took her away.

“Although actually, there is one thing you could do.” She said sneakily, and before Geralt could react she rose her handcuffed hands to cup his cheek and brought him down for a smacker of a kiss. Right on the lips. Geralt had been so shocked it took him a few moments to rear his head back, staring at Yennefer wide eyed, but she just winked at him.

“One last kiss for the road.”

With that she was escorted from the room, throwing him one last little smile to the stunned face staring back at her. Oh Yennefer, she would certainly never change, and Geralt found a small smirk on his lips as he let out an exasperated sigh. She’d always be the enigma in his life.

“Sir, if you’d like to follow me to the exit.”

Geralt blinked at the officer keeping the door open for him, his mind still torn between shock and wanting to almost laugh. It was amazing how the politeness returned as soon as the handcuffs weren’t on you. Still, he walked out the door and was escorted out into the front foyer, where he found Tissaia waiting for him.

“You realise what we’ve all agreed will become null and void if you so much as get a parking ticket?” she said sternly, “One little finger out of line that puts you in the view of the law and you _will_ go down, I will make sure of it. Understand?”

“I understand,” Geralt said, but fixed her with a confident stare, “but you will not see me again. I can promise you that.”

He had Jaskier to love, he wasn’t going anywhere near anything illegal for the rest of his life.

“Make sure of it.” She said, and then with a reluctant nod to the officer she stepped aside, and Geralt walked out those front doors into the fresh air a free man.

He stood outside the station, mind racing, feeling like he was in limbo like this was all a joke and Tissaia was going to come running back out waving handcuffs at him. But when she didn’t, and when the only people that came near him were just people walking by, paying him no attention, he finally found his feet moving. He walked away, away from jail, away from crime, and away from the underworld.

He found a small, excited smile on his face as his pace quickened.

He had a hospital to get to.

* * *

The nurse helped Jaskier back into his bed after he’d been doing his daily walking exercises with her help. His chest felt much better than it had nearly two weeks ago after he’d woken up from his coma, but he still had to be careful how he moved. His chest was also still bandaged up tightly, mainly for pressure support. If all went well, which it was so far, he’d be discharged in a few days.

All the nurses here were completely enamoured with him, and he could hear them arguing with each other out in the hall which one of them was going to come in to help him today. He grinned at all of them, flirted with all of them, loving their little giggles and blushes and yes, he may have handed out a few signatures. They kept him entertained, which was good, because although he was doing his best to stay his usual bright and cheery self, he missed Geralt, desperately. His time in the hospital was nearly up, and ever since Yennefer had visited him in the middle of the night last week he’d heard nothing.

He’d tried looking online at the news, if there were any high-profile convictions taking place, or releases or escapes or just…just _anything_ that gave him some idea on what was going on with his love. He hadn’t seen him or heard his voice for two weeks, and it would be worse for Geralt, after all Jaskier had been in a coma for three weeks unaware of what was going on. Geralt would have been without him for five weeks now and oh he knew him, he’d be so lonely, so scared for him, oh how he wanted to hug him so tightly.

If Yennefer didn’t do what she said she would, if-

“Hey little lark.”

Jaskier’s head shot up from where he’d been reaching for his water, his heart pounding in his throat as he looked to the door the nurse had shortly walked through. There stood Geralt, leaning against the door frame with the fondest, softest smile, and holding a tiny bouquet of buttercups and dandelions. Jaskier stared at him, and stared, glanced to the flowers, and then the biggest grin split his face in two.

“Geralt!!” he exclaimed, so relieved, so ridiculously happy!

He opened his arms wide, like a child reaching up to a loved one, and Geralt was in those arms in a second, their lips meeting for the first time in well over a month. For the moment the flowers were forgotten, dropped to the floor as Geralt buried his hand in Jaskier’s hair, the other cupping his jaw so passionately. At the touch of those lips he’d missed so desperately Geralt melted entirely against him, that silky tongue moving against his own, those hands gripping his shirt on his back, pulling him closer, _closer_.

To believe he was dead for so long, to believe he’d never feel this warmth and touch again, to never see those beautiful eyes or that annoying cheeky smile…oh Geralt wanted to curl up in these arms and never move again. Jaskier was his safe place, who kept him whole and loved him so completely.

The kiss was wet and messy and desperate, Jaskier laughing in pure happiness into the kiss, then moaning wantonly, then laughing again and now _really_ laughing as Geralt tried to move him over on the small single hospital bed, trying to work his way onto it beside him to lay next to him.

“G-Geralt! I have been shot in the lung you know.” Jaskier laughed, as they both managed to precariously balance on the edge as Geralt lay half on top of him, his head resting on his good side avoiding the other carefully.

“Just wanna listen to you breathe.” He said quietly, and he lay there, holding onto him tightly so neither of them fell off the bed, and just listened to the slightly faster rise and fall of his chest. But it was rising, and falling, he was breathing.

He was real, and alive, and here.

“I’m okay Geralt.” Jaskier said quietly, realising this little action meant Geralt had been so worried about him. He ran his fingers into that long white hair as he looked down at the man he loved so, so much, “The doctors say it could have been worse, that I was very lucky in a way. It was rare for a bullet to go through and not hit a rib, it could have ricocheted off and hit any number of other organs, including the heart, so I’m okay. Geralt, really. Just going to find I breathe a little quicker, that’s all.”

“Will you still be able to sing?” Geralt asked, because he knew how much that meant to him.

Jaskier smiled brilliantly at that, loving that Geralt thought to ask, “Yeah, for the most part. What about you? Did err…did Yennefer do what she told me she would? Are you free from…you know, _everything_?”

Geralt raised his head, looking into that sweet face that he’d last seen pale and bloodless and staring at nothing, “Yeah, she did.” he whispered, “I’m free, from all of it.”

He then touched Jaskier’s face gently, just running his fingers lightly down his cheek, across his brow, across his jaw, Jaskier watching him so silently, the smallest of beautiful smiles on his lips. Geralt just wanted to touch him, to know this wasn’t a dream, to know they were both here and that this was the start of a new life. Geralt didn’t know what the future would hold, but he knew what it wouldn’t. It wouldn’t hold death, or pain, or guilt or worry or fear, for Jaskier was the exact opposite of all those things. He was life, pleasure, joy, peace and noise and love.

At the thought of a life with none of those horrible things he’d spent his life knowing, he leant up and captured those lips so tenderly, the gentlest kiss now, slow little nips, the softest tongue lapping at lips that needed to be kissed all day every day. Jaskier moaned sweetly beneath him, his hands lost in Geralt’s hair, and it was a kiss that was promising a lifetime of more.

“Jaskier,” Geralt breathed against his lips, “that question you wanted to ask me before all this happened, do you still wanna ask it?”

Jaskier leant back a little to look at his close face, his eyes filled with scrutiny, for he had to be sure at that sudden suggestion. They ran all over that scarred face, the newest slash across his eyebrow and cheek healed but scarred, just as Jaskier had thought it would at the time, “You sure?” he asked.

Geralt nodded, and Jaskier’s scrutiny turned to a smile he could barely contain, “Really? You want to marry me?”

Geralt nodded again, brushing his lips against Jaskier’s once more, “Yes,” he breathed across them, “I’m never letting you go.”

He then captured them in the most perfect kiss, pouring every ounce of love through them that he never knew he had. Jaskier was trying to let out the loudest squeals of excitement beneath him, trying to cry out in joy making Geralt grin into the kiss. But he wasn’t finished with the kiss yet, he wasn’t letting him go, kissing him over and over again as Jaskier held him so tightly and wiggled beneath him as much as his chest would allow.

Well, maybe Geralt knew one thing the future would definitely hold, and that would be so much love. He was free now, free to love Jaskier as much as he wanted, and he never realised the joy that would come of feeling that. He didn’t have to hold back, he didn’t have to think this would end, for Jaskier’s lips were where he wanted to spend the rest of his days.

Those lips were home.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Still one more chapter to go!


	16. “Not in the middle of the cereal aisle.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's the final chapter! Enjoy!!! It's twice as long as any previous chapter!

Geralt did not move from lying beside Jaskier for the rest of the allowed visiting hours, curled around him like a large blanket and holding him so close there was no mistaking how much he cared for him.

Well, _nearly_ didn’t move.

When it really sunk in that Geralt had just agreed to marry him Jaskier had screamed over and over in utter delight “I’M GETTING MARRIED I’M GETTING MARRIED!”, and was so excitable on the small bed trying to crawl all over him and kiss him and squealing in happiness and Geralt trying to get him to stop before he hurt himself, that Geralt then fell off the bed.

“ _Geralt_! I’m so sorry are you okay?” Jaskier asked hurriedly, peering over the side.

Geralt groaned where he now sat on the floor, having landed on his butt, something that had Jaskier biting his bottom lip to stop from laughing now he could see he was alright, what with the playful glare being thrown up at him.

“Jaskier, _stop_.” Geralt said, exasperatedly amused, “You’ve still got to be careful.”

Jaskier grinned at him sheepishly as Geralt picked himself up, along with the bouquet of flowers that had fallen to the floor in the mad rush to get to Jaskier’s lips. The small bouquet was in much better condition than the one he’d brought him the first time at home, picked from the street and wilted. These were proper ones from a flower shop, bright and full and cared for. He’d passed the shop as he hurried here, pausing and looking at them on display, and knowing he just had to get them.

The police had confiscated his credit card that was in his pocket when he was arrested, along with his mobile and house keys. All had been returned, though funnily enough not the array of weapons he’d had on him. He’d lost his faithful handgun, but that didn’t matter anymore, he’d never pick up another weapon again.

“Is that going to be a thing now? Bringing me buttercups and dandelions?” Jaskier asked with the sweetest grin as he saw them, watching as Geralt stood and placed them in a plastic cup of water as that’s all he could use.

“Perhaps. It did get such a _physical_ reaction out of you the first time.” Geralt smirked, remembering how Jaskier had jumped him and made it his mission to make Geralt come as many times as possible just for turning up with a bunch of half insect-eaten flowers.

That felt like an age ago now, when Geralt was unsure and naïve towards love, and had wondered if bringing home flowers that were his lovers namesake was a good thing or not. Now he was nothing but confident smiles, knowing everything he did brought such a happy smile to Jaskier’s lips.

After all he had learnt about love from the best.

“Yes I remember,” Jaskier said, completely unable to get rid of that grin from his face, “but I’m afraid if you’re expecting that same reaction I have been _strictly_ told by my doctor to keep strenuous physical exertion to a minimum.” He then waggled his eyebrows and stretched his arms up above his head, stretching his body out on deliberate display, “Though that doesn’t mean you can’t just _ravish_ me while I lie here instead, we are alone after all, and I don’t know about you but I could do with a _thorough_ seeing to.”

“Hmmm.” Geralt hummed with a teasing smirk, looking up and down that body that he’d missed _so_ damn much.

Jaskier’s parents had brought in some of his own clothes so he didn’t have to hang around in those awful hospital gowns, so seeing that tease of a happy trail disappearing into his jeans from where his shirt rode up as he stretched…ohhh, he did make it difficult. However, he also made it obvious he was still uncomfortable, what with the wince he tried and failed to hide when he stretched, putting his arms down a little so he wasn’t extending his chest out quite so much.

Geralt smiled at him again, with so much affection, and sat back on the edge of the bed placing one hand the other side of Jaskier’s shoulder, leaning over him.

“Do you also remember that week you refused to have sex with me because of the gunshot in my arm? Well now it’s payback. You need to heal.”

Jaskier could only pout before Geralt captured those lips softly. It was just one small, slow kiss, caressing those lips so smoothly, before he laid back beside him again, manoeuvring his way back on the bed and this time cradling Jaskier in his arms with Jaskier’s head nestled on his shoulder, being very careful with how he was moved. He nuzzled his lark’s hair, closing his eyes and breathing in the familiar scent he had missed as Jaskier playfully complained.

“But it’s been five weeks! I’m basically healed now.”

“You’ve been through major surgery Jaskier.”

“Yes and I’ve had my stitches out I’m _fine_ now!”

“You’re still recovering.”

“I can still have sex Geralt!”

“Not with me you’re not, and I thought you hated the words _I’m_ _fine_.”

“But-!” Jaskier then paused, thinking for a moment as Geralt absently ran his hand up and down Jaskier’s arm, “…wait, why do I feel we’ve had this exact conversation before but in reverse?”

“Because we have.” Geralt smiled against his hair, so complacent and happy, placing a sweet kiss against it. Jaskier was so cute in his complaining.

There was a small pause before Jaskier decided to just sigh dramatically in defeat, and instead chose to cuddle closer to him, slipping his arm around his waist, “Well I see, if this is how it’s going to be then perhaps I’ll retract my question.”

“Sorry, too late.” Geralt murmured into his hair, feeling rather wonderfully sleepy as the weeks of worry and lack of sleep began to catch up with him, now that he felt safe and warm and alive again, back in Jaskier’s arms, “I’m non-refundable.”

Jaskier let out a snort of laughter, before clearing his throat, “Was that a joke, my _pretty puppy_?”

“I can joke.” Geralt insisted, letting the cutesy nickname slide for now.

“Uh huh.” Jaskier nosed against Geralt’s neck and left a small trail of little kisses there, everything so cosy and peaceful, “Too late huh? Guess I’m stuck with you then.”

* * *

Just glad to be together again there wasn’t much conversation between them for the rest of the visiting hours, considering how much there was to say and, well, now to plan together. Geralt just held him as close as he could, still coming to terms with the fact he was free, and now getting _married_ , two things he’d never even considered in his life. But it was true, it was all true, he was a normal citizen now, free to be whoever he chose. And free to be _with_ whoever he chose, and he chose Jaskier, absolutely Jaskier, the man who had stuck with him though every revelation, every admission, every glimpse and out right obvious statement of the terrible things he’d done, and yet had remained with him and loved him through it all. Jaskier had seen his past and walked by his side through it. Jaskier had witnessed first hand the deaths Geralt had caused, and hadn’t been frightened away. He was the only person in this entire world who saw this scarred, tormented, and _dangerous_ man, scarred outside and in, and smiled at him.

Until Jaskier, Geralt never knew a gentle smile or a gentle touch, and especially never knew how much it would make his heart squirm in happiness to have them. It had been a wild roller-coaster of emotions for him ever since they’d met, but now it had settled down, settled into a glowing ball of sunlight in his chest that radiated out towards his… _fiancé_.

Now that was going to take some getting used to. Building a nest with his little lark, having a normal life filled with love and smiles and passionate sex, though that last one _only_ when Jaskier was healed enough for Geralt to risk it again of course. The Butcher of Blaviken may be gone, but the instinct of the white wolf was still there and he’d protect Jaskier with fierce devotion, even from Jaskier’s own horny self.

“Geralt, you’re purring again.” Jaskier giggled against him.

“Mmmm.”

Once upon a time he would have fiercely denied that. Not anymore. He was happy and content and he’d purr as much as he damn well wanted.

Though there was one thing they did talk about near the end of the visit, and that was Geralt informing Jaskier exactly word for word what the cover up for him getting shot would be. The crazy obsessed fan kidnapping him and shooting him when he tried to escape, then Geralt rescuing him. One of those “if I can’t have him then nobody can!” type obsessions. Jaskier had actually grinned at that, saying it made him sound exciting and desirable and Geralt of course the hero and oh people were going to _love_ him.

“Me?” Geralt enquired, and Jaskier nodded.

“Sure, comes with the package of loving me don’t forget. _Famous_! I mean people were already asking me about you online with the photos that have popped up everywhere but now people are going to _really_ want to know you cos you rescued their favourite singer my kidnapping was all over the news they’re going be all over you and-“ Jaskier interrupted his own long stretch of words with an excited gasp, “ _Oh_!! I’ve just thought of a way to tell everyone everything what’s happened! Do you have your phone on you? Mine’s still at home.”

Geralt reached into his pocket and then handed the phone to him, just watching contently as Jaskier downloaded and then logged onto twitter, before opening up the camera and holding his arm out so their faces were on the screen, “Say cheese!”

“Hmm?”

There was a flash, and the subsequent selfie was then attached to a twitter post that Jaskier began to type out. The photo had Jaskier grinning buried happily in Geralt’s arms, Geralt looking a little bewildered at being caught off guard but otherwise looking at the camera, his golden eyes very golden in the light, part of his face still pressed against Jaskier’s hair. 

He watched Jaskier as he typed. Geralt had never used any form of social media before, one needed friends and a non-criminal un-secretive profession for that. To be honest he’d not really used much of the internet in general, his job had hardly required him to be computer savvy. He’d used the dark web for Yennefer occasionally, but that was it, and he’d never go on that again. Geralt didn’t mind having his photo taken now either, having his face online wouldn’t matter anymore, he was safe and free and Jaskier could do whatever he wanted. They were both alive and they were getting married and Geralt felt like he was away with the fairies. He still wondered if this was all a beautiful dream.

“Hi all! Sorry for no contact lately,” Jaskier said aloud as he typed, “as most will know from the news I was shot and have been in hospital. The story is this; I was kidnapped by an obsessed fan (please no one do THAT again!), and was shot in the chest by him while trying to escape. I’m recovering well and will still be able to sing.” He didn’t want to tell them he may not be able to sing parts of his songs naturally anymore, not yet, not until he at least tried, “I’d like you to meet the man who rescued me and saved my life. Everyone say hello to my new fiancé, Geralt! I wouldn’t be alive if not for him, he’s my hero!” he then added a line of red hearts, “Hashtag; HeroWhiteWolf.” He grinned.

Geralt blinked as he saw the post hit the online world, “Hashtag? Wait why are you mentioning white wolf you know I don’t like that name.” He mumbled sulkily, but Jaskier just kept that sneaky grin on his face.

“Oh don’t fret my darling, my fearsome, strong, protective wolf,” he grinned, tapping him on the nose with his phone, “I just want the world to see you as I do, and get rid of this stigma you have that that nickname is something to be feared. It’s a great nickname despite who gave it to you, and you need to un-learn that being attached to it does not mean you are cruel and terrifying, but that the _White Wolf_ really is a hero and is _wonderful_ and _gorgeous!_ ” he sighed dreamily, “Besides, I could have called you _pretty puppy_ , but you did so _eloquently_ beg me not to call you that publicly.” He winked sneakily.

“Hmmm,” Geralt pretended to give it serious thought for a moment, “very good point. White Wolf it is then.” He smiled gently at him, never thinking he’d say that, but hearing it from Jaskier felt…nice.

Everything from Jaskier felt nice.

Jaskier then blinked in realisation _, “_ Wait you don’t know what a hashtag is?”

* * *

Shortly after, a nurse came in to inform them visiting hours were over, and the, um… _man_ , currently wrapped around Jaskier and now throwing daggers in his glare towards her would have to leave. Geralt very, _very_ reluctantly let him go, and only after Jaskier reminded him not give anyone an excuse to arrest him again.

Silly lovely puppy.

Geralt didn’t want to let him go, and so kissed him goodbye until Jaskier was utterly breathless, tasting those lips and that tongue as if imprinting them in his mind even though he’d be back tomorrow. Making him breathless however didn’t take as long to accomplish anymore, and Geralt suddenly panicked when he remembered why that was. But Jaskier just beamed at him, a beautiful flush to his cheeks. He may be breathless, but this was going to be normal now, and Geralt would have to get used to that fact. Also the fact that he wasn’t going to _die_ from being kissed too much.

When Geralt eventually returned to his penthouse, hating that he was still returning alone, he’d all but forgotten about the mess it was in. The lift door to his private floor was still wide open, the hot wiring the kidnappers had done must still be in place and no one knew that when the lift now went down from the top there was a wide gaping hole down 45 floors. He’d have to contact the maintenance team about that, and completely deny knowing anything. It was a good thing it was a private floor for his front door was still hanging off its hinges, as he’d left in such a hurry to rescue Jaskier.

As he stepped inside the chaos around him was a painful reminder of what had happened. His stuff was still everywhere, pulled from the cupboards and cabinets, things broken across the floor. He went to automatically throw his keys, which he hadn’t needed, into his horse bowl, until they clattered against the side instead. He looked to them and the empty space they occupied, forgetting the bowl was in pieces on the floor.

He bent down, gently picking up the fragments. It reminded him to mention to Jaskier that it was probably best to contact his grandmother and get her to throw away that hard-drive, it was useless now Yennefer was in jail. The bowl was far beyond repair, shattered into far too many pieces, and even though it hadn’t been anything special it was still about the only thing in this entire place that he’d chosen himself. It made him sad to see it smashed. He’d have to get a new one, and perhaps…perhaps it could be the first thing he bought as a couple with Jaskier? Maybe they could choose a new one together?

The thought made him beam to himself amongst the devastation.

He spent the rest of the evening tidying the place up, throwing away anything broken and making it look presentable again ready for when Jaskier would come home. Day after tomorrow if all went well. He fixed the door too, getting out his rarely used handyman kit, and by the time he’d finished you’d barely know anything had happened. He had to order a takeaway in, for any food in his fridge was so far out of date now, to the point he opened the fridge door and immediately closed it again, repulsed at the smell. He’d have to clean that out too.

By the time it was all done it was getting late, and even though he knew Jaskier was safe and okay and he’d be seeing him again tomorrow, he still only got three hours sleep. He couldn’t get out of his mind what had happened the last time he’d slept here, waking up to black shadows stealing his Jaskier away, and he made another mental note to get some super high-tech security. Nothing should ever happen anymore, but still, Jaskier was going to be a permanent part of his life now and he’d make sure everything was triple checked safe.

That is of course if they remained in the penthouse, and as he lay awake in the dark after his short sleep his worried thoughts turned to ones that made him smile again, little happy butterflies fluttering around his chest that he was going to marry him. Jaskier had been very excited to see Geralt lived in a penthouse when he first brought him back here, but perhaps he’d would want to move somewhere else, especially after what happened here. If he did, that was fine. Geralt had lived here for a long time but it had always been empty, it was only Jaskier’s presence that made it a home.

Jaskier was his home.

* * *

Geralt hurried back to the hospital the next day the moment visiting hours began, but even though he was there seconds after he was allowed in Jaskier’s parents had already made it there before him, and they both turned to glare at Geralt when he walked in.

It seemed they weren’t exactly happy to find out their son was getting married via a tweet, not to mention they didn’t entirely trust what was going on with Geralt and the shooting Jaskier had taken. Was the tweet real or was it a coverup? They did suspect, but now the fake story was sorted Jaskier was finally able to tell them what had ‘happened’. He didn’t like lying to his parents, but there was no other choice. At least the part about Geralt saving him was true.

In hearing that the tweet was ‘true’, that it was Geralt who had in fact saved him from the obsessive fan, all frowns disappeared and Jaskier’s mother attached herself to him and began kissing him all over his face, pouring her love and heartfelt thank you’s at him. He even got a strong hug out of the father, to which Jaskier throughout all of this was laughing at Geralt’s stunned face.

What followed was then invites to dinner at their home, and now there was a wedding to plan and oh how big of a family did Geralt have did he have any plans yet on where they wanted to marry and OH they knew of this delightful tailor who could size someone up just by looking at them and they’d need to plan the invites and…Jaskier told them both to calm down before Geralt had a brain haemorrhage, Jaskier’s beautiful face still laughing, and Geralt’s overwhelmed face looking rather terrified.

He just wanted to spend the rest of his life with Jaskier, did it really have to be some huge big social ceremony?

Jaskier tried to get them to understand it was still early, Jaskier was still in hospital and please, _please_ , let them plan everything on their own? _Please?!_ Jaskier knew what his mother was like and she’d take over if he didn’t say no now, for Geralt’s sake alone.

His parents ended up staying for a couple of hours, all talking together, Geralt mostly listening as usual, but unlike the first time they’d met him Geralt felt much more…welcome, this time. Especially the father, funny how education didn’t matter anymore when he’d saved his sons life, and now the man was smiling and being so friendly that Geralt felt…felt…

Like he was part of the family. 

He would be officially one day, but that was just on pen and paper. For the first time in his life he _felt_ like he was wanted there with them, and he found himself smiling. Truly smiling. This was a family, a small one sure, and one that loved to embarrass their cute son as much as possible, but still one he was now going to be allowed to be a part of. He felt an ancient warmth blossoming inside him, a forgotten feeling of familial love as Mr Pankratz heartily slapped Geralt on his back with a grin, his wife brushing Geralt’s hair from his eyes just like a mother would.

It made his heart swell. Was he finally getting the family he never had?

When they left, Jaskier let out a relieved sigh and apologised with a grin at how excitable they could both get, a side to the father Geralt had certainly not seen before. And as wonderful, and embarrassing, as that all was, Geralt was glad they were gone, because now he could _finally_ actually say hello to his love and kiss him with a, “Morning, my lovely lark”.

Jaskier had grinned into the kiss, Geralt laying back beside him again, the kiss getting a little heated as Jaskier’s hand wandered up underneath Geralt’s shirt, palming across his scarred skin before making its way down, down…

“ _No_.” Geralt said, breaking the kiss and fixing Jaskier with an affectionately stern look.

“Ohhhh.” Jaskier whined, still grinning through his pout that he’d been caught, and reluctantly moved his hand away from dipping beneath the waist of Geralt’s trousers.

It seemed no sex today either.

They soon settled down together on the bed, back in each other’s arms where they belonged and with no wandering hands, and actually began to talk about everything that had happened over the past month. Yesterday had been a torrent of emotions and relief, too much to think or talk about other things, just so happy to be back together again.

So Geralt started by telling him about his entire time in jail. Told him what he had witnessed at the several meetings regarding Yennefer’s surrender, and everything that entailed for himself from the fake credentials to the warning of never crossing the law again. He told him of all the old murders they connected to him, but that at the time he hadn’t cared because…well, he told him very quietly that they didn’t tell him for over three weeks that Jaskier was actually alive.

At hearing that Jaskier had looked absolutely horrified. He had pulled Geralt to him, kissing him so hard as though pouring all the love he possibly could into him, telling him how much he loved him and how disgustingly that cruel was. Jaskier held onto him for a long time, even when Geralt had genuinely felt better for getting that off his chest and had tried to lean away to talk about something else, Jaskier just held on.

“That is horrible Geralt,” Jaskier said, his voice sounding choked and not because of any lack of oxygen, “if that was me…if I’d thought you were dead for so long…”

He couldn’t finish the sentence, and just gripped Geralt so tight squished together on the tiny bed. Geralt thought he’d felt better about it, but perhaps he hadn’t, because he was finding the emotion in Jaskier’s voice and the way he gripped him so hard that his hands were shaking…well, it was starting to affect him too. He found his throat tightening, and he held onto him just as firmly, a hand on the back of his head cradling him close. He supposed it hadn’t really hit him before, at just how much being left in the dark had affected him, and now hearing Jaskier’s kind words and being surrounded by the warmth he thought he’d lost forever…if Jaskier felt a couple of tears fall onto his hair he didn’t mention it.

Honestly, Geralt had never cried so much for so many different reasons in his entire life until knowing Jaskier. Jaskier gave him all the emotions, _all_ of them, especially ones that he had always suppressed. But they were learning to come forward, they were learning to be a part of his life now, they were learning that it was alright to show themselves to the world.

At least he really did feel better now.

Afterwards, Jaskier had cleared his throat and said, “Well, might as well get all the shitty news out the way. Yennefer asked me to tell you something.”

And so now Jaskier told Geralt exactly what Yennefer had told him, about using them both, letting Jaskier be kidnapped so Geralt would kill Cahir’s men for her. Rightfully so, Geralt had been beyond angry, to the point where he’d gripped his fists so tightly in an attempt not to lash out at any object or wall nearby that a few nails broke the skin. Only Jaskier calmly placing his hands on top of them made them loosen, but it didn’t stop him from swearing loudly and exclaiming _what the_ _fuck_ did she think she was doing, and then having to leave the bed to be away from Jaskier for he was shaking with rage and didn’t want him to see.

For him, that had been the worst thing she had ever done, and that was saying something. To deliberately involve Jaskier, to put him in so much danger, it was unthinkable, he could have died! _Did_ technically die for a while there! He could have lost his own life too, there was so many opportunities for it to have all gone wrong and both himself and Jaskier could have ended up dead on the floor in a pile of their own blood, all because of Yennef-FUCK!

She may have just given herself up to save him in the end, but there would have been no need to if she hadn’t done all that in the first place. It did not excuse what she’d done. And why, _why_ had she done that anyway?! She says she’s not planning on being arrested long what was she doing how was she doing it? Why was she caring about him in one moment and trying to destroy everything he loved the next?!

Jaskier tried to lighten the mood by saying he’d thought something similar, and his feeling towards her were so mixed. He hated her for it, but…she didn’t _have_ to give herself in. Geralt was here because of her, and if nothing else, he was thankful to her for that.

Geralt didn’t know what to feel about her anymore, he didn’t want to think about her. No wonder she didn’t want to tell him anything. They were lovers for five years, knew each other for twice as long as that, how did she…Geralt sighed, infuriated, and after pacing around the room in a fury finally collapsed down into the chair next to the bed. But Jaskier shook his head in a no and pulled at his arms to come and lie with him on the bed again. He wanted to sooth his love. Geralt decided he’d just have to accept the fact that Yennefer was just…unknown. Even after all these years. He didn’t know what he felt about her, he’d need time to process all this, to calm down.

He knew one thing though, he would never forgive her for involving Jaskier, _never_ , no matter what she’d done to arrange his freedom no one put Jaskier in danger and remained on his good side. He sighed again, not wanting to think about it any longer and kissed Jaskier instead, letting his warmth sooth him as curled himself around him protectively. 

No one hurt him, not ever, he’d be his own personal bodyguard forever now, no contract required.

Shortly after a nurse came in to say it was time for Jaskier’s daily walk around the ward, and Jaskier eagerly asked if it was okay that Geralt came with him instead. He was only a day away from being discharged anyway, technically he could walk fine on his own but they wanted someone with him just in case. Geralt was glad of the distraction, and helped him up out the bed and hooked his arm around his elbow, walking with him. 

Jaskier really was much better, you’d hardly know that he’d been shot in the lung, he was cheerful and waving at other patients that weren’t in private rooms like his own. Some had been there for a while and had seen him before, others, new ones that didn’t know Jaskier was here and then recognised him as a celebrity, squealed in excitement. The sight of him set one patient off in a hacking coughing fit and the nurses had to rush round her, Jaskier quickly hurrying off with a “ _Whoops_!”

Geralt watched him being his usual chirpy self, and was just amazed at how strong he was. Not physically perhaps, but emotionally, soulfully, he was as strong as Geralt’s physicality in those areas. Two weeks ago he’d been in a coma, now look at him. It made Geralt swell with affection for him. He was so proud of him.

When they got back to Jaskier’s room they were joined by a doctor, who said he wanted to do some final checks ready for him to be discharged. Geralt stood to one side while Jaskier sat on the edge of the bed and gingerly took his shirt off, revealing a heavy tight bandage around his chest. The doctor slowly unwrapped it, asking him questions about how he was feeling as he did. 

This was the first time Geralt would see his injury, and he couldn’t help the short intake of breath at the sight. The scar on his back, the entry wound, was small, just a tiny hole, nothing much to take in. The one on his front however, oh, it made a fear rush up right from Geralt’s toes. Exit wounds were often messier, bringing with it the insides it had just sliced through, and this one certainly was. The scar was large and misshapen, a shape as though someone had dropped a splosh of milk on the floor, the shape of a ripped star. It was the only part of Jaskier’s chest that didn’t have hair anymore, and never would again, so it was very obviously noticeable.

And it looked horribly painful.

To think, Jaskier had been in his arms bleeding out with that gaping ripped mess through him. If it had been painful though Jaskier certainly didn’t show it, and perhaps it wasn’t, perhaps being in that coma for three weeks healed it well enough for the pain not to be as blinding as it looked like it should be. Jaskier just smiled at Geralt as the doctor worked over him, perfectly peaceful and content.

There were also two long separate scars, ones leading downwards from each bullet wound where the doctors had operated to get to his lung. These were well cared for scars though and didn’t really show up too much. Geralt tried to not think about those though, for it brought forth the image of Jaskier being operated on, imaging his lungs being exposed out his chest and oh, no, Geralt shook his head, he wasn’t picturing that no, no way no.

The doctor checked over the scars and where the stitches had been to ensure it was all healing well, then listened to his chest again, asking him to take in as deeper breaths as he could and to hold them. He was listening for any liquid trapped in the lungs, and any abnormal sounds indicating there may be a microscopic hole anywhere or any other complications. The doctor smiled, informing him all sounded perfectly well. It appeared Jaskier had responded extremely well to the surgery, everything was healing as it should be, and, if he wanted, there was no more need for to him to stay for another night. If he wanted, and _only_ if he wanted, he could leave today.

“Yes!” Jaskier exclaimed, looking to Geralt with the biggest smile, “Yes I want to go home!”

The doctor wrapped the bandages back round him and then fetched a few papers for him to sign along with a leaflet on what to expect with diminished lung capacity. He then explained to them both that for at least another month Jaskier was not to lift any heavy objects, and to take regular but gentle exercise, walking being the best. The bandages were more for support now and as soon as he felt okay he could take them off whenever he liked.

“Um, what about sex? Is that okay to do?” Jaskier asked, in the guise of an innocent question relating to his health when in fact he gave Geralt the side eye with a spark of mischief. 

The doctor didn’t pick up on that though, and Geralt gave Jaskier a very dead-pan look in return. It seemed he was determined to get in his pants.

“Sex _should_ be okay,” the doctor replied professionally, “so long as you’re _very_ careful. Make sure it’s nothing too exuberant for a while, nothing that puts any direct pressure on your chest or that would aggravate your wounds. Really it’ll come down to what you feel you can do, but don’t be surprised when you become short of breath much quicker than before. It’ll be nothing to worry about, you can still carry on it’ll all be your new normal now, it’ll just take some getting used to.”

“ _Thank_ you.” Jaskier replied, pointedly looking at Geralt with a knowing smile that said _I told you so_.

And then just like that, Jaskier was released. Geralt helped him pack up his few clothes and belongings that his parents had brought him, swiftly taking the bag out of Jaskier’s hand to carry it himself, and instead took Jaskier’s hand in his own, squeezing it tightly.

“Ready to go home?”

Jaskier grinned, “You have no idea.”

* * *

It occurred to Geralt on the way home he never did do a grocery shop to fill his now empty kitchen, and with Jaskier insisting he was fine to just walk up and down some aisles they went shopping together. Or at least tried to. Jaskier’s agent hadn’t been kidding when she said he’d been all over the news and his popularity had skyrocketed, for it seemed practically every other person in the shop knew who he was and kept coming up to him with badly hidden grins of delight trying to act normal when in fact they were bursting with excitement.

At first Jaskier was beaming at the attention and happily answering questions while Geralt had quickly popped back into the other aisle forgetting something, but it didn’t take long for him to be completely surrounded, backing him up against the shelves as his happy smile became just that little bit forced. People were asking if he was alright what had happened it must have been so scary can I have an autograph can I have a photo oh my god I love you can I touch you someone was pulling on his arm and then suddenly, out of nowhere, the golden eyes and white hair of _the hero white wolf from the tweet_ slid up to them with a murderous growl at seeing Jaskier being so harassed.

“Hey! _Back off_!” He pushed past the crowd and stood in front of Jaskier, completely blocking him from view with his large form, his bodyguarding instincts really kicking in making himself look taller and his giant muscles twitching menacingly. “He’s literally just left the hospital and you’re harassing him already? _Fuck off_ all of you!!”

Honestly, no one in history had looked more homicidal whilst cradling a box of eggs.

At the shouted swear a lot of people flinched and backed away, others complaining more daringly louder as they went that “He can’t talk to us like that!” But a quick intimidating growl along with a clench of fist and a step towards them soon had them hurrying off away as fast as they could. 

“Umm, Geralt?” Jaskier said airily, tapping him on the shoulder to make him turn around, “Thank you, but…you know that whole trying to make you seem _not-frightening_ thing I was trying to do online?” he raised an eyebrow at him.

Geralt, still angry, just glared at him, “I don’t give a _fuck_ what they think about me! No one has the right to harass you like that don’t they have any sense of self control I mean what-“ Jaskier placed a finger to his lips, silencing the stream of anger.

“Geralt,” Jaskier said sweetly, slipping his arms around his neck and leaning in, ghosting his lips across his, “I love you.”

He then kissed him so achingly slowly, taking his time to slide his tongue leisurely across Geralt’s bottom lip before slipping it inside, sensual little moans vibrating up his throat, his lips so softly caressing Geralt’s it was like they were gently massaging them. The anger melted immediately from Geralt like an ice cream being left in the hot sun, and leaving just enough willpower to remember to hold onto the eggs he slipped his other arm around Jaskier’s waist and pulled him close, his own tongue gliding against Jaskier’s as he deepened the kiss. He let out a breathy moan at the feel of one of Jaskier’s hands sliding up through Geralt’s hair, palm against his scalp, before gripping a fistful of that white and keeping Geralt’s head still as he ravished his mouth and lips.

Claiming him. Owning him. Loving him.

It was Geralt that was beginning to feel weak at the knees, the kiss ending just before he lost any remaining control and pinned him up against the shelves. Jaskier slowly pulled back, still licking and nipping at Geralt’s lips a few more times, before opening his now dark eyes that, like the rest of him, were a damn tease.

“ _Sure_ you can resist fucking me?” he asked quietly, low and wantonly, Geralt finally opening his own darkly blown eyes to look upon that cheeky, hopeful face.

He let out a large sigh through his nose, and even he didn’t know if it was a sigh of surrender or not.

“Not in the middle of the cereal aisle.” He eventually said, and Jaskier laughed, taking his hand as they walked on.

* * *

Once home Jaskier didn’t stop with the attempts at getting Geralt to make love to him as quickly as possible, and Geralt, to his credit, was holding out well. Geralt watched Jaskier closely when they returned, looking for any sense of unease at being back at the place he was kidnapped from, but there didn’t appear to be any. As usual he just smiled brightly, saying it was good to be home, and oh is that the door to the bedroom oh he just couldn’t remember perhaps he needed Geralt to remind him what one did in a bedroom…

“Sleep.” Geralt replied with a curl to his lips, heading to the kitchen to dump all the grocery bags he was carrying. He hadn’t let Jaskier carry a single one.

He unpacked the bags and began to make dinner, ordering Jaskier to sit and stop trying to help. Or rather stop trying to distract him with wandering touches as he hugged him from behind, his hands once again wandering down and now blatantly cupping Geralt’s cock through his trousers. Now he was banished to a chair at the breakfast island, and when it appeared all his deliberate under the eyelashes stares weren’t going to distract Geralt either, Jaskier clucked his tongue in feigned annoyance and said he was going to get his mobile from the bedroom where he’d left it. He might as well check what kind of reaction he’d had from his fans about that photo he’d uploaded yesterday, as Geralt was being _so_ uncooperative with being seduced.

Busy cooking it took Geralt a moment to realise Jaskier had been gone for some time, and leaving the pasta shells simmering gently he found Jaskier standing in their bedroom, staring at the bed. But there wasn’t a hint of a smirk or a teasing smile, he was just…staring at it.

“Jaskier?” Geralt asked gently, walking beside him and gently touching his elbow, “Are you okay?”

“Hm?” Jaskier blinked out of his daydream and looked to his love, “Oh yeah…I just…last time I was here, I just…remembered, that’s all.”

This is what Geralt had been expecting, and dreading. He knew Jaskier’s cheerful flirting attitude upon returning home was just a cover, even if Jaskier didn’t realise it. Geralt looked to the bed, remembering Jaskier’s scream as he was dragged from it and across the floor by his hair.

“Jaskier, we don’t have to stay here, if you don’t want.”

Jaskier looked to him curiously, “What?”

Geralt reached up to touch his face, running his fingers over the edge of his ear and down his neck, “With what happened here. It was a horrible experience, and if you want to move, to leave here I don’t min-“

“Well I mind!!” Jaskier exclaimed, sounded rather indignant, “Yes what happened was very, _very_ frightening, but that was one bad thing out of all the good things that have happened here! I love this place! It has all the memories of me slowly breaking through to you I wouldn’t leave here for anything! And I’m certainly not going to let them win by making me run away!”

The fierce determination in Jaskier’s eyes shocked Geralt, but only for a moment, for he should have known better. Jaskier was strong, Geralt reminded himself, far stronger than Geralt in so many ways.

Geralt smiled at him, finding himself rather relieved actually, “Okay, fair enough.” He tilted Jaskier’s chin up gently, placing a charming kiss to his lips, a proof that Geralt may be being uncooperative with Jaskier’s seduction techniques but only because he loved him, and didn’t want to see him hurting himself “Come on,” he said, with a tilt of his head, “let’s have dinner.”

* * *

After dinner, the two of them sat on the sofa by the large television, Jaskier switching it on more as background noise to the quiet penthouse as they talked. Jaskier did check his phone and found thousands of replies to the message and photo. Many replies were of relief and get wells and outrage at this obsessed fan. He grinned to himself at those who mentioned Geralt though, and he read some out to him. Many were enquiring about the unusual hair and eye colour, many joining in on calling him a hero, many more saying how _hot_ he was, and a few…well, a lot, in tears that Jaskier was no longer available.

“Sorry my lovelies.” Jaskier grinned to himself, “I’ve found myself the perfect man.”

Geralt couldn’t help the derogatory snort, “Perfect, right.”

Jaskier hit him gently on the arm “ _Yes_ perfect, and mine, so I won’t hear you put yourself down anymore, got that? That’s now a rule.”

Geralt just pressed his lips together with a small smile, and titled his head towards him in mock understanding, “Yes Sir.”

Something came over Jaskier’s eyes at hearing that, something, as usual for him, sexual, “Hmmm, _sir_ …”

He didn’t elaborate on anything more, but gave Geralt a very cheeky little lick of his lips, and Geralt rolled his eyes.

A little while later Jaskier brought up the subject of how tidy the place all was, and was sorry Geralt had to face it all alone. It must have been hard. Geralt however just shrugged, and said the only thing he really missed was the horse bowl.

“Maybe…” Geralt said, almost shyly, “…you could help me choose another one?”

Jaskier beamed at him, “Absolutely! Actually there’s a few things we need to get. A new guitar for one, I still haven’t told my agent the other one kind of got…set on fire. Dunno how I’m going to explain _that_ one. But also,” he said, now grinning as he drew his legs up underneath him and faced Geralt where they sat, “we have to get certain rings, now don’t we?”

A tentative smile graced Geralt’s lips, one that threatened to grow considerably if he didn’t control it, “I still can’t believe you’re marrying me.”

He traced Jaskier’s arm with his fingertips, gazing into those blue eyes, and Jaskier gave him the most loving smile in return.

“There’s never going to be anyone else,” Jaskier said softly, now snuggling in closer and leaning into him, his head resting on his shoulder, “and you know what? I think when we get the rings you should wear yours on a chain around your neck.”

“Really?” Geralt asked, rather surprised as he gently wrapped his arm around him, cuddling close, “Why?”

“Because it’s strange not having something dangling around your neck. I got so used to seeing that medallion but I’m not sorry it’s gone. It was a reminder of a bad thing in your past and I never did like it. Besides,” he said, and Geralt could hear the grin in his voice, “it’ll be much hotter to feel the weight of a wedding ring on my back while you fuck me.”

Geralt let out a strange noise somewhere between a sigh and a groan, and Jaskier giggled in his arms.

* * *

“You want it off?” Geralt asked hesitantly, after helping Jaskier take his shirt off which then left him with the bandages around his chest.

“Yeah, it’s too tight to sleep with.”

Geralt gently began to unwrap Jaskier’s long chest bandage, folding it neatly as he went where they stood together by the bed. It was time for sleeping, Geralt had been yawning into his hand on the sofa and Jaskier had noticed, so took his hand and kissed the back of it, saying it was time for bed. Geralt still hadn’t had a decent nights sleep since the night Jaskier was taken, and it was all catching up with him. He knew he’d get a full sleep now because Jaskier was back, it was the only time he slept like a normal person when he had Jaskier beside him. Or half on top of him in most cases.

When the final part of the bandage fell away, Geralt couldn’t help but look at the mess of the scar again, just underneath Jaskier’s left nipple. Without even thinking he reached out, just gently touching the pads of his fingers to the skin around it.

“Does it really look that bad?” Jaskier asked, his voice full of uncertainty.

Geralt looked to his eyes, not realising the grimacing look he must have had on his face. He fixed him with a steady stare.

“Jaskier, that scar is proof you’re alive. It’s beautiful.”

And he meant that. A scar was proof of healing, of surviving, of life. He had never cared for his own scars but Jaskier, a Jaskier with a patch of healed mangled skin was far preferable to a dead one. The scar truly was beautiful to Geralt.

Jaskier looked for a moment like he was going to cry through the wonderful smile that came to his lips, but instead he just let out a small shaky laugh, as though how he appeared with this scar had been something on his mind.

“Well, I always said your scars were stories, I guess I have my own story now.”

Geralt smiled thoughtfully at him, “Mmm, but let’s make sure you don’t get any more stories.”

Jaskier chuckled at him, “ _Neither_ of us should get any more stories.”

They finished getting ready for bed, and Geralt wasn’t blind to the looks Jaskier would give him, small winning smiles and coy sideways glances as he removed his clothes. By the time they got into bed together Geralt was all but ready to fight off Jaskier’s comely advances with loving kindness, and low and behold Jaskier snuggled against him, his weight on his right side leaving his left free from any pressure as his hand began wandering again. Accompanied by not so subtle kisses on his chest that began to move further across.

“ _Jaskier_ ,” Geralt said threateningly, but the little smile was ruining it, “I saw how uncomfortable it was just to remove your shirt, we are _not having sex_.”

“Awww come on Geralt,” Jaskier whined, “that was just my arm, can’t move it back too far without stretching everything a little too much, but I don’t have to do that in sex.”

“Jaskier-“

“You heard what the doctor said,” he insisted, his wandering hand stroking over Geralt’s hip and down his thigh, just teasing, “we can be careful, I promise I won’t over do it.”

But Geralt took a hold of that wandering hand and brought it back up to lay across his chest instead, “Not today my lark, so stop trying.”

He smiled at him fondly, but Jaskier suddenly wasn’t smiling back. In fact, he looked…unexpectedly sad, giving Geralt a quick cheerless smile as Geralt cocked his head with a frown at the sudden change of mood. Surely Jaskier knew he was doing this for a good reason? He’d had surgery for fucks sake he must understand how careful they needed to be? Just for a while. The last thing Geralt wanted and couldn’t even bare to imagine was Jaskier having a fit of breathing difficulties in the middle of sex, Geralt would never forgive himself!

But Jaskier…Geralt didn’t want to be the reason for that look.

“All joking aside Geralt,” Jaskier began, his voice all too serious, curling his fingers against his chest and looking up into his eyes, “I was dead. _Really_ dead. And then I wasn’t, and I woke up only to be told that you’re in jail and I didn’t know if I was ever going to see you again. Then you stroll in with those buttercups like the sweet man you are,” he smiled at that, a true, stunning smile, “and I have never wanted to stay with anyone more in my life than with you at that moment. I _love_ you, can you blame me that after all that I just want to be close to you? To feel _alive_ again?”

Geralt let out a small sigh, “I understand that, I just…” he paused, looking over his face, a face of sombre honesty that was tugging painfully at his heart, “I don’t want to hurt you.” He whispered, his eyes looking down away from the ones that wanted him so much.

Of course he wanted to make love to him, of course he wanted to be so close after being so far apart, but if he hurt him…it was the last thing he wanted.

He was frightened by it.

But Jaskier just smiled at him, a little bit of fond happiness returning along with so much love in his face for Geralt’s concern, “Right from the start you never wanted to hurt me Geralt, and you never have.” He traced his fingers over his jaw, making him look back to him, “Do you know what the first thing was that I thought about when I woke up from that coma?” Geralt shook his head slowly, “For a moment I didn’t know where I was, or what had happened. For that moment I couldn’t remember anything, and out of all of that unknown darkness my first thought was of you. Why were my parents here and not you? Where was Geralt? And then every morning after that my first thought was still of you, wondering if you were okay, imagining kissing you,” he added with a shy grin, “picturing that one day I’d wake up and you’d be there beside me again. But every time I woke up and you _weren’t_ ……I _hated_ it.” He said quietly, trying to get him to understand just how much he desperately missed him, and how much he desperately wanted to be close to him again. “It was so wrong to be without you.”

But Geralt did understand, all too well.

“It’s the same…for me.” Geralt said quietly, placing his hand over Jaskier’s on his chest, running his thumb across the back of it, “I think of you when I wake. I’d convinced myself you were dead in that time when they wouldn’t tell me. I found myself waking up and…and I didn’t want to if you weren’t there.” It was one of the most honest and true things he had ever said, right from the heart, “I didn’t want to be in a world where you weren’t there to love me. You’d spoilt me with it,” he partly joked, a quick smirk to his lips, “and now I can’t live without it.” He moved his hand and ran the backs of his fingers down Jaskier’s cheek, taking in that lovable face that just wanted attention, “I can’t live without you, Jaskier.”

The most delightful little groan left Jaskier’s lips, accompanied with an equally delightful little smile, and suddenly Jaskier was kissing him, moving so he was lying on top of him, weight on his elbows so he didn’t put any pressure on his chest as his hands buried themselves in Geralt’s hair. Geralt didn’t try to stop him, instead just ran his hands down Jaskier’s sides, coming to rest at his hips before sliding them up his back.

“Oh Geralt,” Jaskier moaned again against his lips, “please I promise to be careful, I promise, let’s just…we’ll do it with me top on, you know, your favourite position,” he suggested with an excited flirtatious grin, “I know you’d like that anyway. There’s no pressure on my chest doing it that way. Right? Please??” he asked eagerly hopefully.

Geralt touched Jaskier’s face again, something he was doing a lot recently, almost like to ensure he was really here. He could feel his will fading at the optimism in Jaskier’s eyes, and with another sigh he gave him an exasperated smile.

“Alright,” he said, Jaskier letting out a thrilled gasp, “I do want you too you know I do, but _please_ be careful.”

“Knew I could convince you if I brought up that position.” Jaskier winked as he immediately got up off Geralt so he could get the lube out the draw.

“That is _not_ why I agreed.” Geralt protested, but Jaskier just grinned at him.

“Yeeeeah, of course.” He mocked affectionately, chucking him the lube and Geralt catching it as he sat up higher against the headboard.

If they were doing this he didn’t want Jaskier to have to bend over too much to kiss him, so he was making sure he’d be high enough.

“Just admit,” Jaskier continued as he knelt either side of Geralt’s hips, his cock trapped between them and already hardening in anticipation, “that you are entirely wrapped around my little finger.”

He ran one finger down the length of Geralt’s nose and tapped the end of it. Geralt just stared at him.

“I’ve said it before, you’re insatiable.”

Jaskier just gave him his trademark cheeky smile as one of his hands then reached down between them to grasp at Geralt’s cock, the other one cupping the back of his neck as he brushed his lips against Geralt’s, “True, but I’m also in love.” He then licked across his lips, biting Geralt’s bottom lip gently before leaning fully into a deep, heavy kiss, with all the arousing moans that went with it as he worked Geralt’s cock in his palm. The kiss didn’t last long however and when he pulled back whispered; “And horny as fuck it has been weeks.”

Geralt let out a short, amused huff at that, and just took his lips again with a smile, kissing him over and over again as he squeezed some lube onto his fingers and reached round to begin gently working his fingers around Jaskier’s entrance. Jaskier sighed longingly at the first touch, deepening their kiss with a moan and squeezing his hand harder around Geralt’s cock. It never took long to get Geralt hard, and he soon held both their cocks together, Geralt’s hand joining in as they rubbed over them both, pumping them together as Geralt slid one finger inside him.

Jaskier moaned against his lips at the familiar feeling, but then Geralt broke the kiss to suckle at his neck, Jaskier letting his head fall back, eyes closed as he felt another finger move up inside him. _God_ he’d missed those fingers _so_ much.

Although the sexual moans and sighs remained frequent, Jaskier was less with his words this time. It seemed this time it was all about touch, the physical want, needing to feel alive, just like he said. They’d talked a lot over the last few days, this was just their carnal desires left, and with so much uncertainty these past five weeks it was a lot of love and tension to get out in one setting.

Geralt released their cocks and wrapped his arm around Jaskier’s waist, pulling him even closer, his hand then slipping down to squeeze at one buttock, pulling at the flesh opening his entrance more as he added a third finger. He curled them inside finding those nerves that had Jaskier’s arms flying up around him with a beautiful gasp, holding him so close as Geralt continued to lick and nip at his neck, Jaskier’s hands buried in Geralt long locks.

Jaskier was breathing faster already, Geralt having to tell himself this was normal. Shorter, sharper breaths were all normal, Jaskier would tell him if he was having trouble, so keeping that in mind he moved his other hand back onto their cocks as Jaskier still had his hands grasping at his hair, holding Geralt’s head where it was buried at his neck. Geralt took a long lick up his neck, Jaskier tilting his head back even more as the feeling of that wet tongue made him shudder and the blood pump hard into his cock.

As Geralt added his fourth finger, fucking him deeply and Jaskier absolutely in bliss above him, Jaskier pulled on Geralt’s hair tipping his head back and smashed their lips together, tongue so hungry for its counterpart, groaning deliciously and grinding back onto those fingers.

“You feel you’re ready?”

Geralt knew he was, he knew his body by now, but he always asked. Jaskier, of course, nodded very enthusiastically and groaned impatiently.

Jaskier raised his hips high as Geralt manoeuvred his cock into position, and at that height Jaskier’s scar was in plain view in front of Geralt’s eyes. So, with his other hand he grasped Jaskier around his waist again pulling him closer once more, and then buried his head on his chest, kissing and licking around the only hairless part of it, wordlessly reminding Jaskier that this scar really was beautiful. He was alive, they were both alive, and Jaskier chocked back a strangled cry that he disguised as a moan.

Geralt knew Jaskier put in a lot to his appearance, and his worried question of _is it that bad_ from earlier was proof enough it really was on his mind like Geralt had thought. So he’d prove to him he was still just as sexy and infuriatingly adorable as he’d always been, by lavishing as much love on the part of himself he disliked the most, to prove it was loved the most.

Being emotionally distracted by Geralt’s lips on his chest it was almost a surprise when Jaskier felt the head of Geralt’s cock at his entrance, but he soon remembered why, and he slowly sank down, just a little teasing at first, they hadn’t had sex for a while now and he paused as the head pushed past the tight ring of muscle. Geralt just continued worshipping his chest, nosing through the hairs and taking a sweet pert nipple into his mouth, all the while letting Jaskier do what he needed. 

Slowly Jaskier sank down, Geralt’s cock being engulfed into that tight heat and Jaskier feeling every inch of it. He gasped deeply at how full it made him feel, just curling his hips slightly to let it move out of him just a bit and then back in again, feeling it fill him, and eventually he sank down right to the hilt, Geralt letting out deep, breathless moans against his chest.

Jaskier was right, they needed this.

Jaskier began to move, his knees and hips doing all the work, his chest free from any pressure aside from the caresses and kisses it was permanently getting from Geralt, his nipples being sucked and nipped until they were red and used and gorgeous, and always a kiss returning to the scar. Jaskier kept his head thrown back as still he had his hands a tangle in Geralt’s hair, moving up and down, Geralt’s cock slick with lube and making it so easy to be filled again and again, sliding all the way to the tip, before pushing back down now in one swoop and Jaskier groaning loudly and shamelessly.

Geralt was lost in the feeling. He’d had no idea how much he needed this, wanted this, had to feel Jaskier alive in his arms moaning those delicious sounds and feeling that glorious heat engulf his cock again. Jaskier’s breathing had become short and fast even further as the heat and the passion built, and Geralt continually told himself over and over that this was normal, he was fine, if he was having problems he’d say something, it wasn’t going to ruin the mood, Jaskier wanted this. Jaskier needed this. They both did.

Geralt had wondered once why this really was his favourite position to have Jaskier in, and the answer had come to him after the time Jaskier had taken Geralt instead. Here, like then, it wasn’t Geralt throwing his muscles around making Jaskier be in whatever position Geralt wanted, it was entirely Jaskier in charge, making his own decisions, making the decision to be with Geralt. 

As silly as it sounded, because he knew Jaskier loved Geralt to throw his weight around and fuck him in any position physically possible, but it was Jaskier _choosing_ to be with him that did it for him. Anyone could throw someone down and take them whether they wanted it or not, but Jaskier was choosing to be with _him_ , choosing to fuck himself on his cock, choosing to make love to him and no one else. Geralt was being chosen willingly because Jaskier wasn’t scared of him, Jaskier loved him, above all others.

He knew it was stupid, after all this time together he knew but it was the feeling of being wanted that did it for Geralt. Jaskier would choose him every time, Jaskier had chosen him to be with for the rest of time now, and as the thought of a ring on a chain around his neck entered his mind he suddenly growled desperately against Jaskier’s skin, his entire body flushing with heat. He found his hands sliding down to Jaskier’s waist where he gripped him tightly and began helping him lift himself up and down, because like everything else Jaskier weighed nothing to him now his own wounds were healed again. Jaskier groaned so loudly at the feeling of the pressure being taken off his knees as Geralt basically lifted him himself, fucking him down onto his cock like his own fuck doll, and fuck Jaskier loved it. He was his fuck doll, and his love doll, and his caring doll, and any kind of doll he wanted, he’d be his _wrap him up in blankets and snuggle on the sofa_ doll. He was his, in everyway Jaskier loved him _so_ much.

As he was fucked onto Geralt’s cock Jaskier did the one thing he knew would get a brilliant groan out of Geralt and pulled on his hair, forcing him to face upwards being pulled away from the attack of love on his damaged chest. And low and behold, a feral groan rumbled up from Geralt’s throat at the tight pull of his hair, looking up into the flushed, wildly panting face of his love.

He only got to look at him for a moment before Jaskier smashed their lips together again, moaning so hard, so few words escaping this was just heat and friction and need as the pace grew faster and deeper. This wasn’t going to be a long lovemaking, this was a raw need of just each other, and oh the feel of Geralt stiff cock impaling him again and again sent shivers up his spine and his heart beating madly in his chest. They’d make love properly tomorrow perhaps, slowly, when the raw need was satisfied.

So much for being careful, though at least he wasn’t being pounded into the bed on his back, now that _would_ have hurt his chest. But he was free like this, free to be loved and fucked as hard as they both wanted.

“Oh fuck, Geralt…uhhhh uh yes, more…. _more_ …!”

Jaskier moaned heavily against his lips, gripping Geralt’s hair so tightly as Geralt lifted Jaskier’s hips so his cock very nearly came entirely out, just bare the tip remaining in as he then let his body drop back down. Jaskier cried out in perfect pleasure as his bottom hit back down to Geralt’s thighs, that cock rammed in so deep as he began grinding his hips down greedily, keeping Geralt cocks inside him as he curled his hips hard against his thighs, keeping him deep and moving inside him.

“Fuck!” Geralt breathed, his face betraying the heated pleasure that movement brought him, his cock enveloped so tightly as Jaskier moved all around him, squeezing his muscles as though trying to pull more of him in that he didn’t have.

He took his hips again and raised them, but Jaskier took back control and slammed his own body back down, throwing his head back with a loud shriek of bliss as he began to bounce spectacularly on Geralt’s cock. The flush on his cheeks flew down his neck and chest once again, his cock straining trapped between his stomach and Geralt’s taut muscles, the friction building.

“Ohhhh fuck I’m _coming_!” Jaskier gasped, eyes rapturously closed as his entire body fucked down onto Geralt as hard as he could.

Seconds later he was screaming as he came, thick, white shots bursting from his cock landing on their chests. Geralt raised those hips one last time and then buried himself deep inside him, grabbing Jaskier’s entire shuddering body and clutching him closely, burying his head at Jaskier’s neck and groaning so uncontrollably as shots of his own cum went deep inside him, pulsating again and again as they both trembled with their own intense releases.

Almost immediately however Geralt’s euphoria was over, for Jaskier’s breathing was so fast and shallow and he was so red in the face, so now Geralt just panicked as he grabbed Jaskier’s arms tightly.

“Jaskier? _Jaskier_! Are you okay what’s-“

But Jaskier, his head still thrown back, just patted Geralt lightly on his shoulder, a smile through his panting lips as he finally opened his eyes.

“Lay…me down…” he managed to say, and Geralt immediately wrapped his arms around him and lowered him onto his back as gently as possible, his face full of tense concern, “’m okay…just…need… to calm…m’ good….so good…”

It felt like forever until his breathing began to return to his new normal, and Geralt lay there resting up on his elbow looking over him with so much worry and love, his palm resting across Jaskier’s stomach and trying to help by soothing him with gentle strokes over his skin. When Jaskier gave him a few reassuring smiles and his chest began to rise and fall as it should, Geralt’s worry abated, and he reached for some tissues to clean themselves up with, though couldn’t help a lovingly irritated glare down at him.

“ _That_ …wasn’t being careful. And I’m to blame as much as you.” He let out a huff of a growl aimed at both of them.

“Yes it was,” Jaskier replied, finally able to talk again as he laid there being cared for, “this is normal remember, it’s just going to take some time for me to recover each time.” He turned on his side to he could face him better, staring a with a smile into that grumpy face, “And if you’re there cuddling me each and every time and saying how madly in love with me you are, I’m sure we’ll both learn to enjoy the comedown, okay? Only you can literally take my breath away.” He grinned, and Geralt just let out a sigh of affectionate irritation.

“Alright, but we are definitely not doing it on your back for a _long_ time!!” he commanded, but Jaskier just laughed, and pushed Geralt onto his back so he could snuggle up to him, leaning on his right side again.

“Like I said, any excuse to have me on top.”

“It’s not a-!” Geralt began, but Jaskier’s full out laugh on his chest made it fizzle away, and instead he found himself smiling, smiling so much, and holding his ridiculous lover to his body as close as he could. “Go to sleep, you fucking nightmare.” Geralt smirked, and Jaskier just continued to giggle so happily.

It was a damn infectious giggle, one that although Geralt was getting better at admitting a lot of things he wouldn’t have done before, he wasn’t quite ready to admit his own bubbly giggle that suddenly erupted from his own chest. The utterly foreign and completely un-prepared sound sent Jaskier off into more hysterical laughter, not believing that sound actually came from Geralt.

In the end, the equally surprisingly joyful Geralt that held the shaking with happiness Jaskier in his arms was truly one that had never existed before. He was a man that had come to be now he’d found what it was like to be loved.

And he was a good man.

* * *

It was Jaskier’s phone ringing that awoke them the following morning. It was late morning too, one that had Geralt smiling in his half-awake state that he’d gotten such a good long sleep as he knew he would. Jaskier reached blindly for the bedside table, grabbing his phone.

“Hello?” he yawned heavily, blinking slowly as Geralt sleepily ran his hand down Jaskier’s arm.

It was his agent. It was his agent asking to speak to Geralt.

“Oh yeah, well sure I’m fine by the way out the hospital thanks for asking.” He joked, and his agent flustered and apologised and yes of course are you alright how are you is everything okay???

He talked with her for a moment, letting himself wake up, and being too early to figure out why she wanted him he eventually passed the phone to Geralt.

“Its my agent, she wants to talk to you?”

Geralt blinked blearily at him, and took the phone, not even bothering to rise his head from the pillow.

“Mmmm?” he grumbled.

Jaskier couldn’t hear what she was saying, but he watched with growing interest as the expression on Geralt’s face changed from mildly irritated sleepiness, at being awoken and being told to socialise on the phone instead of wanting to awaken in the arms of his fiancé on their first morning back together again, to disbelieving shock and…hope?

“Yes…definitely yes!” he was saying back to her, his eyes now wide and awake moving to sit up against the headboard, “No I don’t have any other job going at the moment I will definitely-…yes…sure, I’ll come in. Thanks.”

He disconnected the call, and then stared at the phone.

Jaskier was staring at him expectantly, “ _Well_?!” he exclaimed when Geralt just continued to stare at the phone, “What was all that about?”

Geralt turned to him slowly, the pull of a smile threatening the corner of his lips, “She said she read your tweet, about me saving you from that…fan. There’s also a video online, it seemed someone in the shop yesterday was recording me dispersing that crowd around you. She said your studio has agreed that with your sudden mass explosion of popularity that you need…a bodyguard.”

Jaskier slowly grinned at the realisation of what that phone call must have been, “And they’ve asked you?” he said, his voice breathless with hopefulness.

Geralt nodded, and Jaskier squealed with glee and wrapped his arms around him, Geralt slowly grinning as the realisation set in. He could spend every moment of every day with him now, could be together wherever Jaskier’s fame took him. He was already going to guard him forever, that was already decided, but now at least he could be paid for it and allowed to be with him outside of their private life.

Jaskier was kissing him everywhere, now rambling off excitedly on all the things that meant, that Geralt could come with him to concerts and be the guard at the back stage door fighting off the fans, and he could come with him to events and just be this towering mass of lovable muscle beside him scaring off any more potential “kidnappers”, and oh they were going to be together everywhere and this was _amazing,_ and Geralt…

Well, Geralt knew without a doubt that out of all the people he’d guarded in his life, Jaskier was going to be the only one who was actually worth being protected, who deserved to be protected, and who Geralt would truly die for willingly if required.

Though of course that would never be required, Geralt was extremely good at his job, and he was already making plans to ensure that Jaskier would be known throughout the world as the one person not to fuck with if they didn’t want to unleash the fierce fury of the White Wolf beside him.

This wolf was not defanged or declawed like Cahir had tried to suggest, this wolf had fangs and claws sharpened to their fullest, glinting in the night, standing protectively over the little lark beneath him, singing prettily for all the world to hear.

* * *

**_Six Months Later_ **

The crowd could be heard in the distance, cheering, chanting, “JU-LI-IAN! JU-LI-AN!”, impatiently waiting for their singer to come on stage for his performance in Germany, one the countries near the beginning of his World Tour. But their singer was no where near ready to come out on stage, for although the hair and makeup and outfit were all done and ready, he wasn’t going anywhere while he was still in his dressing room being thoroughly railed against the wall by his husband.

“Oh fuck Geralt _fuck_ me oh _fuck_ _FUCK_!”

The profanities were pouring from Jaskier’s mouth as Geralt had him with his back against the wall, his legs wrapped around Geralt’s waist as Geralt fucked up into him like a madman who’d just been told he’d never have sex again after this. It was so hard and so fast and Jaskier’s hands were wrapped tightly around Geralt’s neck so he didn’t fall and their mouths were clashing together all teeth and tongues and sloppy wetness and-

Someone was knocking on the door, a voice calling from the other side.

“You ready yet Julian? There’s fashionably late and then there’s people demanding refunds if their singer doesn’t show up!”

Jaskier detached his lips from Geralt’s, his entire body been pumped upwards and hard against the wall as Geralt’s cock rammed him senseless, “I’m…I’m coming…I’ll be there in a moment! I’m….oh _fuck_ I’m coming…uhhHHH!”

His agent other side thankfully didn’t hear that last part, as she’d already walked on in a frustrated _damn celebrities_ panic. Jaskier let his head fall with a thump against the wall as he was pistoned like a fucking steam engine, the calls of his own name by his fans turning him on even more as moan after moan fell from his lips like he’d forgotten all other forms of speech.

“Haa ahh fuck ahhhh uh Geralt!”

The wedding ring on the chain around Geralt’s neck was constantly banging against his chest on every hard thrust up into him, Geralt holding him by his arse, one palm on each and squeezing them both as his balls slapped up onto them at just how fast he was pounding him. Jaskier was lost, utterly lost now clawing at the wall behind him, desperate and boneless and brainless and, “FfffuuUUUC-“

Geralt held Jaskier’s weight with one arm as he quickly moved the other to put it over Jaskier’s mouth, for anyone nearby would definitely hear this mind-blowing orgasm, and as usual the feel of that tightness swallowing his cock whole had Geralt coming up in him deep and feral like, back arching as he pushed up into him as far as he possibly could.

Jaskier shuddered violently, his entire body twitching heavily as his come spurted so high it hit him in his own face. Geralt quickly held him close, bringing him down from the wall and onto the floor with him. He turned him so Jaskier was facing in front and then brought him down to sit with him on the floor, Jaskier’s back to his chest, holding him close and breathing with him, one hand on Jaskier’s heaving chest. Geralt breathed with him in time, keeping their chests together, and eventually, as they had learnt worked so well, Jaskier coordinated his breathing in time with Geralt’s. They found this worked so much quicker, and eventually, as his breathing began to settle, Jaskier beamed like the melted puddle of goo that he was and relaxed back in Geralt’s arms.

“You should probably get onstage before they cancel everything.” Geralt suggested, kissing his ear.

“Yeah…” Jaskier breathed happily, “though you better pass me a tissue to wipe my own come of my face, I think I’d cause a storm if I went out there looking like this.”

Geralt chuckled behind him, standing and helping him up off the floor as he took the time to wipe his face clean.

“So, how do I look?” Jaskier asked, straightening his waistcoat.

Geralt looked at him, up and down, taking in the smartly pressed black trousers, the smartly ironed dark purple waistcoat with the rainbow buttons, and then the violently pink silk shirt. Geralt just shook his head and chuckled, “Thoroughly fucked,” he grinned, as he patted down his hair that was sticking up at all angles, “and gorgeous as always.”

His eyeliner was a little smudged after all that, but no one would notice. Hopefully.

Jaskier giggled and Geralt kissed him, just quickly, just a good luck kiss, “Go on, before they riot.”

With a grin Jaskier grabbed his guitar and then ran out the dressing room door towards the sounds of the crowd. The new guitar had an inscription on the back that read; ‘For my lark, from his wolf’, to which someone, in a certain flowery handwriting, had written the word _puppy_ after wolf.

Geralt watched him go, and waited for the inevitable moment when the explosion of cheers took place at the sight of Jaskier arriving on stage. When it did, and Jaskier’s microphoned voice could be heard echoing around the huge stadium, Geralt picked up his black jacket and put it on, straightening his shirt, and headed out towards the stage to watch Jaskier’s performance. He always hid at the side of the stage, just out of sight, in the perfect position to run out on stage if things got a little wild. From here he could also watch his husband singing for all his worth.

He remembered the first time Jaskier had sung in front of a crowd after his surgery, and as much as Jaskier had tried he just couldn’t hit those longer notes, falling short, and the look on his face had been devastating…until the crowd continued singing on the note for him. He’d looked up at the thousands of people now cheering him on, and Geralt had seen from where he’d been standing that there was tears in Jaskier’s eyes, such happy, amazing tears, and he’d carried on with his performance even more enthusiastically than it already was. It became a thing now, that whenever Jaskier couldn’t quite finish a note, the crowd, which was often singing along anyway, would carry it on for him.

It was a beautiful thing to behold.

It had been a very busy, completely different, out of this world six months. They had got married, barely a month later after saying yes in the hospital room. For Geralt’s sake it had been a very small, very private ceremony, with only Jaskier’s parents, his grandparents, and a few of his seldom seen friends attending. 

“Do you find it strange I don’t really have many friends?” Jaskier had asked Geralt.

“Considering it’s you? Yes.”

But Jaskier had just laughed, “Meh, I’m more a love them and leave them kind of guy, never really gelled long enough to keep any proper friendships. Except you of course my darling.”

The wedding wasn’t advertised, they didn’t want fans or paparazzi turning up, but they’d found a field close to where Roach’s stables were that was _covered_ top to bottom in buttercups, and had got married there in the middle of it all. Jaskier’s mother had cried. Jaskier had cried. Geralt had…cried afterwards, away from other eyes and in Jaskier’s arms. He cried at how much he loved him, that it had actually happened they were actually married, and that Jaskier was wearing a wedding ring that Geralt had put there, and Geralt was wearing a ring that Jaskier had threaded through a new golden chain and put it round his neck.

With the fake story of what happened to Jaskier spreading across the world Geralt had became famous in his own right, mainly because of how fiercely protective he was of Jaskier, and would always be seen very close by no matter what Jaskier was doing. There was a lot of photographs of back stage from Jaskier’s performances, where he’d be signing autographs to massive crowds, flashes of cameras going off everywhere, and whenever a fan would get a little too enthusiastic, a little too close for comfort, those flashes of cameras would capture the Hero White Wolf, as the hashtag had caught on, barging in and literally picking Jaskier up where he stood. Jaskier would just grin soppily as he’d let himself be manhandled further on down the crowd, Geralt then standing directly next to him, staring down at the fans right in front of him, arms crossed, golden eyes glaring, just daring for anyone else to try and grab him.

The Hero White Wolf was a fantastic mystery to Jaskier’s fans, because he always seemed so terrifying and constantly glaring and did this man even know how to smile? Why were they married did this really work between the two of them? And yet their Julian always insisted in interviews that Geralt, his bodyguard and husband, was as sweet as could be, loving and generous and wonderful, it was just he took his job very seriously, after all how can you blame him after the kidnapping? 

But no one ever saw that side, no one saw how out of the eyes of the public the White Wolf was the equivalent of a puppy on his back getting his tummy scratched. The fans ended up loving the dynamic though, and because of how praise worthy Jaskier was of him even though the public never got to see it, it gave the fans all sorts of ideas, and Jaskier had read a few of these ideas out to Geralt, a few of these _fanfics_.

Some of them gave Jaskier some _wild_ ideas.

It was another month later that had Tissaia arriving at their door, suspiciously questioning Geralt if he knew how Yennefer had escaped.

Escaped? Geralt knew nothing, and if Tissaia did well to check she’d see he had not broken the law in any way since their agreement, and no where did it state that he could be re-arrested or even called upon at his door if Yennefer was no longer in their custody. Tissaia eyed him, forever not believing, but with no proof at all she left, and it was the last time he ever saw her.

If it _happened_ , that Geralt _might_ have heard on the grape vine about an armoured van smashing into the side of a prison transport, and its one female prisoner escaping out of it, well, that was none of his business was it?

Another month later and a letter had arrived with Geralt’s name on it. It was hand delivered, no stamps, and it was from Yennefer. She explained how her plan to escape had worked with help from the bickering children she’d managed to form into a vague new criminal family. She said how she gave the police enough evidence to bring down a lot of people, any clients who had vaguely annoyed her were gone and arrested, so that was a lot of people. 

Funny, Geralt had noticed the restaurant they used to go to, the one he’d taken Jaskier to, had shut rather suddenly. 

It was enough criminals handed in to ensure they wouldn’t go back on their word with Geralt’s freedom, then the new crime family she’d made had helped her escape and relocate to a new country, not the same one on that hard-drive. She’d compiled all the money from all the banks Cahir had taken over from the other families and done a runner. She had more money than anyone in their life could know what to do with, but she wanted to spend it on Ciri, who’d been in the care of her new short-lived family while she was in jail. The band of leftovers she’d managed to put together was running things well, and her last order to them before she disappeared was that on pain of death they were never to involve Geralt in anything ever again. The fact this was hand delivered proved she still had people on her payroll in England, where ever she’d ended up.

But where ever they were, she said they were happy, and safe, and Geralt would always be thought of as a friend. That, and she hoped he had forgiven her for what she did. Geralt still hadn’t made up his mind about that, but the anger had almost gone now over time. Perhaps it was a case where he couldn’t forgive, but maybe he could forget. Maybe he could think back on her and remember the kind times, the few times she allowed herself to be vulnerable in front of him.

Maybe.

They had stayed in the penthouse just like Jaskier had said, but almost the entire insides were now new. Everything that had come with the penthouse all those years ago was thrown away, and the two of them went on a shopping spree, everything from the sofa and the bed to the tables and chairs, all of it was replaced. Geralt had wanted to start again, to buy things together as a couple, to make his home _their_ home, including of course the new horse bowl. Jaskier had commissioned one online to be handed painted, the horses galloping by all looking like Roach, interspersed with a few buttercups. Geralt had loved it more than he could say when he opened up the box, and it was now his favourite item in the entire house. 

Jaskier’s favourite new item, happened to be next to the bowl.

You see, because Jaskier could never believe he’d actually heard _that_ amount of words not only coming out of Geralt’s mouth at once but that he’d actually _written_ them, meant Jaskier had made Geralt’s wedding vows into a plaque to display in their home. It had been a truly adorable scene at the wedding, he’d um’d and err’d and stuttered his way through it, blushing more than he’d ever admit, but it had come right from the heart, and Jaskier was, if anything, a collector of things from the heart. It was the part of the wedding Jaskier had cried at, after hearing Geralt say publicly how much he loved him.

So it took pride of place, right next to the new horse bowl, for any and all who may walk through the front door to see it, and for Jaskier to be reminded every single day just how much his pretty puppy loved him. Not that he ever needed to be reminded, for an entire life worth of love was pouring out of Geralt every day, all for Jaskier to bask in. 

The words read:

**_“I love you, Jaskier. I never knew what that was before you, and I don’t ever want to be without it again. So I can promise you, that you would never find anyone else who would love, and protect you, and be filled with so much never ending happiness to wake up next to you, every single day, as me. You’ve given me a life I’d never thought to even dream of before, it was so impossible to imagine, and yet you are. You are the reason for every smile, for every good memory. You sang your way into my heart, and offered me a soul of my own, and now they all belong to you. I love you, my little lark, and I always will.”_ **

Geralt didn’t mind it being displayed either, he had long stopped being embarrassed over anything loving and sweet, for now it was a part of his everyday life. All it did was prove to him that for the first time ever, he was guarding someone who had a soul.

****The End*****

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well that's it!! I do hope you've all enjoyed this roller-coaster of love! Please PLEASE leave any and all reviews, they all mean so much to me, and thank you to everyone who has been commenting so far and stuck with the story from the very beginning! I love you all! <3<3
> 
> Also, if you'd like to share this story on tumblr, please do so by reblogging this gifset I made to go with this story: https://starrose17.tumblr.com/post/616640401089134592
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> And hey follow me too if you like! XD


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